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PA. 8 Ptinsrf

ARISTOTLE’S ETHICS.

VOL. I.

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σο.

PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOOD

’ EW-STREET SQUARE

pial

+?

THE

ETHICS OF ARISTOTLE

ILLUSTRATED WITH

ESSAYS AND NOTES.

BY

SIR ALEXANDER GRANT, BART., M.A., LL.D.

DIRECTOR OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION IN THE BOMBAY PRESIDENCY
AND FORMERLY FELLOW OF ORIEL COLLEGE, OXFORD.

SECOND EDITION, REVISED AND COMPLETED.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOLUME THE FIRST.

LONDON : 2

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
1866,

Stack
Annex

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430
AS QIA
$66
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PREFACE

TO.

THE SECOND EDITION.

HE AUTHOR of this work is conscious that in many
places it requires re-writing. He would have ~
wished to re-cast especially many parts of the ‘ Essays,’
and to introduce into them the results of fresh reading
and thought. But official duties in India have pre-
cluded him from attempting such a task, and have
obliged him to be content with a bare completion of
his commentary, by the addition of notes (such as they
are) upon the last four books of the Nzcomachean
Ethies.

For a revision of the work in general, but more
especially of the Notes, the Author is indebted to
the accomplished scholarship and kind care of John
Purves Esq., B. A., of Balliol College, Oxford. Several
minor alterations have been introduced by Mr. Purves,
with the Author’s entire concurrence, into the trans-
lations and notes.

The same causes which have prevented the re-
writing of the ‘ Essays,’ have also prevented the fulfil-
ment of certain promises formerly made to the public ;

vl PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.

as, for instance, of a translation of the entire Zthies of
Aristotle. Indexes, however, to the matter contained
in the Essays and Notes have been added by Mr. Purves.
And the Verbal Index to the Nicomachean text, which
appeared in Dr. Cardwell’s edition, has been here
reprinted, with the permission of the Delegates of the
Oxford University Press. An essay on the ‘ Ancient
Stoics,’ which was contributed by the Author to the
volume of ‘ Oxford Essays’ for 1858, has now been
introduced among essays which endeavour to treat
not only of the Aristotelian moral system, but also
of its surroundings.

CONTENTS OF THE ESSAYS.

ESSAY 1.

On the Genuineness of the Nicomachean Ethics and on the

Mode of their Composition.

Present view of the ‘ Works of Aristotle’
Chronology of the Life of ‘Aristotle
Incompleteness of his Writings

Have we only the Notes of his ἜΣ
Strabo’s Story of the Fate of his Writings
Examination of this Story

The List of his Works by Diogenes λα ἐν

Origin of the names Nicomachean Ethics, Eudemian Ethics,

and Magna Moralia

Theory of Spengel :

Opening of the Three Treatises Sitseaeas
-Eudemus of Rhodes ; :

Account of the Hudemian Ethics .

Account of the Magna Moralia . +

Notices of Nicomachus . A

The appearance of system in Δ ἢ. Nic. .

The appearances of disorder in the same work

The Authorship of Books V., VI., VIL. : ‘
General hypothesis as to the composition of the whole work

Vill CONTENTS OF

ESSAY II.

On the History of Moral Philosophy in Greece
previous to Aristotle.

PAGE
Aristotle gives no History of Ethics. . : ; .- 44
Sketch given in the Magna Moralia . : : : ae
Three Eras of Morality ‘ : : : ‘ ὃ .
The First or Unconscious Era , : ‘ : ; |
Elements of the popular Morality in Greece . ‘ Σ - 50
The Morality of Homer : . : : : ‘ oe
The Morality of Hesiod ; : : 2 ᾿ ‘ Ὧν τ
The Seven Wise Men . : : : : Ξ ; «, 86
The Morality of Solon . . ν : : Ἶ :. ὍΣ
General Character of {π6 ‘Gnomes’. : i ς . $9
Theognis of Megara. : : : : : : . 60
Simonides of Ceos ; é : : : : : . ἃ.
Influence of the Mysteries . : ς ; : ι a

General Conceptions of the Good . : ‘ : : . 66
Moral Opinions of the Pythagoreans, Heraclitus, and

Democritus . : fe F Δ . 66
Second Era of Morality, the Sophists : : : } . 68
Question raised as to their Character . ; : : . 68
History of the word ‘Sophist’ . ς . 69
Use of the word in Aschylus and Herodota., . : : . 69
In Aristophanes. : : : : : 3 oe
In Thucydides and nonhien é : ᾿ : : ΟΝ
In Isocrates . ; ‘ : : : ‘ - is ἐς
Summary of the History ; ‘ : : : : . 3
Account of the Sophists in Plato . ‘ ὶ Σ , 96
General Opinions entertained of the Sophists . ‘ . oS
The Sophists as Teachers - . { ; : : 3 ‘: Oo!
Their Teaching for Money . ς j : ; : . 80
The Sophists as Authors of Rhetoric . . . . - 83
Two Schools of Rhetoric among the Sophists .° ὁ. 84

The ‘Greek’ School of Rhetoric—Protagoras, Ῥιοδιί sd
Hippias : : : ; : : . : . 82

THE ESSAYS.

The ‘ Sicilian ’ School—Gorgias, Polus, and Alcidamas .
The place of Rhetoric historically

Internal Character of Rhetoric

Aristotle’s account of ‘ Sophistic’

The Philosophy of the Sophists, of Peon:
The Philosophy of Gorgias .

Dialectic of the Sophists

The Sophists in relation to Ethics

Their Teaching Virtue

The Fable of Prodicus

The Apologue of Hippias

The Casuistry of the Sophists

Their Opposition of ‘ Nature’ and ‘ ΓΕΒ ΕΣ
History of this Doctrine

Application by the Sophists of this ἘΠ ἤν Το γε
Summary with regard to the Sophists .

Third or Conscious Era of Morality
Uncertainty about the Doctrine of Socrates .
Personal Traits of Socrates

His ‘ supernatural’ Element

The Irony of Socrates :
The Statements of Aristotle aie ἡ ;
Aristotle’s Account of his Method

Was Socrates the ‘ First Moral Philosopher ?’

Did he divide Science into Ethics, Physics, and Logic? .

Did he believe in the Immortality of the Soul ?
Socrates as a Teacher of Youth

His Doctrine that ‘ Virtue is a Science’

His want of Psychology

His Moral Paradoxes .

His Dialectic contrasted with that of the Sopihiate
The Socratic Schools ; ; :
Relation of the Cynics and Cyrenaics to Socrates .
Spirit and Doctrines of the Early Cynics

The Cyrenaic System of Ethics

The Cyrenaic Doctrine of Pleasure

Relation of the Doctrine to Plato and Aristotle
Influence of the Cyrenaic School .

1X
PAGE
87
88
89
go
ΟἹ
94

99
ΙΟΙ

102
103
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109
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111:
111
112
113
114
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115
117
118
118
120
122
124
125
127
ey,
128
129
121
121
172
133

CONTENTS OF

ESSAY II.

On the Relation of Aristotle's Ethics to Plato
and the Platonists.

Importance of Plato in the History of Philosophy
His Development of the Doctrines of Socrates
The Ethical System of Plato

Doctrines in the Ethics of Aristotle ae are boo eh

Plato, (1) Of the Nature of Politics
(z) Of the Chief Good ; ; » Can :
(3) Of the Proper Function of Man. ‘ ‘ ᾿
(4) Of the Divisions of the Mind
(5) Of the Excellence of Philosophy
(6) Of ‘the Mean’
(7) Of φρόνησις.
(8) Of Pleasure .
(9) Of Friendship
(10) Various Suggestions, Mctaphaea ἜΝ bs ἐν
from Plato :
Aristotle’s Dissent from the aes of Plato
Plato’s System of Ideas, its Origin and Import
Plato’s Doctrine of the Idea of Good
Aristotle’s Rejection of this as a Principle for Ethics
His Arguments against it as a Metaphysical Principle
Unfairness of these Arguments
Arguments continued .
Aristotle’s Assertion of Nominalism
His Analytic tendencies
His Separation of Ethics from Theology
His Tone and Style of Writing
Plato's Oral Teaching referred to
Reference to the Laws of Plato
Characteristics of the Platonists .

PAGE
135
135
137

139
141
142
142
143
144
144
145
147

148
149
140
152
153
155
158
159
161
162
164
164
166
167
167

ΨΥ a

THE ESSAYS.

ESSAY IV.

On Philosophical Forms in the Ethics of Aristotle.

The Importance of Aristotle’s Scientific Forms

(1) Τέλος, its Meaning and Application

General Doctrine of the Four Causes

Application of the Final Cause to Ethics

Ethical Ends Different from Physical

The End-in-itself of Moral Action

The End-in-itself of Thought : :

Difficulties regarding the End-in-itself in seinten to Con-
siderations of Time

General Aspect of the Theory :

(2) ’Evépyea, its Meaning and Application .

Philosophical Doctrine of ’Evépyea

Its Origin ;

Its Universal Application

How it comes into Ethics :

How it is applied to express the Moral N ature of Mis :

Its New Import in relation to the Mind

Its use in the Definition of Pleasure

Its use in the Definition of Happiness .

(3) Μεσότης, its Meaning and Application

History of the Doctrine traced from the ΠΡ ΤΊΒΕΌΙ .

Its Development in Plato

ts Adoption by Aristotle

Relation of μεσότης to λόγος ; :

Criticism of the formula as a principle of Ethies : : -

(4) The Syllogism as applied to express Will and Action

The Theory of the Practical Syllogism perhaps not due to

_ Aristotle :
Statement of the Doctrine .
Its application in Eth. vi. and vii.
Criticism of its value .

ΧΙ

PAGE
170
171
171
172
173
174
177

178
180
181
181
183
184
186
187
193
196
199
201
202
204
205
206
208
212

212
213
215
216

Xil CONTENTS OF

ESSAY V.
On the Physical and Theological Ideas in the Ethics
of Aristotle.
PAGE
Why we are obliged to enter upon the deeper questions of
Aristotle's Philosophy . : ; : : ν . 220
His Conception of Nature . ; : ἁ εἰς ean
Its relation to Chance and Necessity. : : ξ - wal
Intelligence and Design in Nature ° : ; : as
Relation of Man to Nature as a whole . : : : .- 220
Aristotle’s Conception of Theology asa Science . Ξ . 229
His Reasonings upon the Nature of God. : : a
Expressions relative to God in the Ethics. : ων ΣΝ
What Aristotle meant by ψυχή. ‘ : : : . 236
Its relation to the Body : ° - 238
Aristotle not explicit about the haneraaey of the Soul : 230
The Ethics uninfluenced by any regard to a Future Life . “ean
ESSAY VI.
The Ancient Stoics.
The Stoics form a transition to Modern Thought . : - ‘aay
Origin of Stoicism purely internal : ° ‘ ὃ . 244
‘Intensity’ of the Stoics . : ; : : .
Stoicism contrasted with Epicurism . : : 3 . 227
Three Periods of Stoicism . : . : F ; . 248
(1) Formation . : 3 . é : : ; Β 248
Zeno . . . : ξ . . ἢ . . . 240.
Cleanthes . : : : ‘ : ; , i . a=
Chrysippus . : ; : : "aaa
Relation of Stoicism to ee Philosophy : : : 233
Stoicism and Cynicism : . d : : . - 254
Stoical Formulas : : : δ : 3 : ἔπε. -
Butler compared with the Stoics . : ᾿ . , . ΖΕ

Stoic Ideal not of the Past . : : i : : ._, S53

THE ESSAYS.

The Ideal Wise Man

The Idea of Advance .

‘Duty’ : :

The Stoic ἘΠΣΜ ΤΟΣ ΝΣ

The Stoic Theology

The Hymn of Cleanthes

The Stoic Necessarianism ‘
The Stoics and Popular Religion . :
(2) Promulgation. Stoicism brought to Rome
Panaetius .

Posidonius . Ε

Household Philosophers

Philosophy among the Romans

(3) Roman Stoicism

Seneca

Suicide

Epictetus

Marcus Aurelius.

Stoicism and Roman Law

Debt of Modern Times to the Stoics
Merits and Defects of Stoicism

ESSAY VIL.

ΧΙ
PAGE

259
261

262
263
265
266
268
270
273
275
276
277
278
280
283
291
293
296
299
163:
304

On the Relation of Aristotle's Ethics to Modern Systems.

The Progress of Ethical Thought since Aristotle . :

Outline of Dugald Stewart’s Moral System, and Comparison
of it with that of Aristotle . :

The Idea of Duty prominent in Modern ἜΠΕΣΕ :

The Question of Moral Saas. how answered by Butler,
Paley, and Kant .

Comparison of the points of view οἵ Aristotle μὲ Kant

The question of Free-will never entered on by Aristotle

Terms of Moral Philosophy inherited from Aristotle

Alteration that such Terms have undergone

Aristotle’s Hthics a Historical Monument

306

308
312

314
315
316
318
319
321

X1V CONTENTS OF THE ESSAYS.

APPENDIX A.
On the Ethical Method of Aristotle.

PAGE
His own Discussions on the Logic of Ethics . : ᾿ ost 0 7}
His actual Procedure . : : : : ; . sam
Was he a Dogmatic? . , ᾿ : ; ‘ . 326

APPENDIX B.

On the "EZRQTEPIKOI AOTOI.

Story of Aulus Gellius ὃ : , ; Ν é ., 348
Examination of this . : ε : ἱ : ‘ . 928
Notices of Cicero : ᾿ Ἶ ‘ . 329
Internal Evidence from Aristotle himself ; ; ; -. 38g
Use of the Term ᾽ξ. λόγοι by Eudemus.. . Ἵ . Ὁ

APPENDIX C.

On the Political Ideas in the Ethics of Aristotle. |
Slight influence of Political views on Aristotle’s Moral

System. ——
His conception of the State t a Beskarouad to Ἰώ Ethics 30 Ὁ

His virtual separation of Ethics from Politics : ; . 396
»

—— — eee ee” eC

Ce —~ ee” Cle

ESSAY I.

--- «----

On the Genuineness of the Nicomachean Ethics, and on
the Mode of their Composition.

Γ studying the philosophy of Aristotle, we encounter at the
outset a very difficult question with regard to the genuine-
ness, the form, and the literary character of the works in which
that philosophy is contained. The question, in its full scope
and real earnestness, is one of recent origin, though sceptical
theories concerning the text of Aristotle have been at various
times mooted, as, for instance, by Strabo and by Patricius. We -
stand now in a very different position with regard to Aristotle
from that occupied by the middle ages, or even by the scholars
of the Renaissance. Once the whole body of what are called
the writings of Aristotle were received with equal reverence,
though not by any means equally studied. A sort of dogmatic
completeness, and almost a verbal nicety of finish was thought
to pervade the whole; and we accordingly find Thomas
Aquinas' discussing why it was that Aristotle makes an
apology in his Ethics for attacking the theories of Plato, while
in the Metaphysics he attacks them without any such apology.
Aquinas decides the reason to have been that in a treatise on
morals due attention to good manners was particularly neces-
sary. Such criticism appears ludicrous to our times. Our

1 Thomas Aquinas, Commentarii in | bare opinionem amici non est contra
Aristotelis Ethica Nicomachea, upon | veritatem, que quzritur principaliter
1. vi., ‘Ideo autem potius hic hoc dicit | inaliis speculativis. Est autem contra
quam in aliis libris, in quibus opini- | bonos mores; de quibus principaliter ’
onem Platonis improbat, quia impro- | agitur in hoc libro.’

. 4» Β

2 ESSAY I.

eyes have become more and more opened to the incomplete
and fragmentary character of Aristotle’s remains. In what
are called his works we know that we have a considerable
nucleus of the actual writing of Aristotle himself. Also we
have a concretion of Peripatetic philosophy, some of it nearly
contemporary with Aristotle, other parts far later. Also, even
in books that are most essentially genuine, we can recognise
the hand of the editor; we can trace what is most probably
posthumous recension, joinings added of parts before dis-
united, references introduced, completion as far as possible,
or the semblance of completion, given to what was really in
itself left incomplete.

Almost all we know of the life of Aristotle is contained in
a quotation made by Diogenes Laertius (Υ. i. 9) from the chro-
nology (Χρονικὰ) of Apollodorus. This Apollodorus is praised
by Niebuhr as a trustworthy writer; he appears to have lived
about 140 B.c. He gives the following dates of the leading
events in the life of Aristotle: ‘ That he was born, Olymp. 99.
I (8.0. 383). That he met Plato and spent 20 years in his
company, 17 years of them continuously. That he came to
Mytilene Ol. 108. 4 (B.c. 344). That in the first year after
the death of Plato, he went to Hermeas and abode with him
3 years. That he came to Philip, Ol. 109. 2 (B.C. 342), when
Alexander was 15 years old. That he came to Athens, OL.
111. 2 (B.C. 334). That he held his school (σχολάσαι) in ©
the Lyceum 13 years, and then went to Chalcis, Ol. 114. 3
(B.c. 321), where he died of a disease, about 63 years old.’
The different parts of this sketch have been filled up in most
cases with little certainty. With regard to Aristotle’s career
as an author, no information has reached us, but the general
opinion has been that his works were composed during his
second stay at Athens,—that is, while he was holding his
school in the Lyceum, during the last 13 years of his life,

THE WORKS OF ARISTOTLE. 3

Tnternal evidence, on which we have chiefly to rely, is on the
whole in favour of this supposition, as the works that have
come to us belong to one period of the philosopher’s mind ;
his system and terminology, peculiar as it is, appears through-
out fully formed, It is only in minute points that a develop-
ment of ideas can be traced. Another argument for the
same hypothesis is, the unfinished character of almost every-
_ thing that bears the name of Aristotle. All is characterized
by vastness of conception, but also by a falling short in the
attainment of what had been designed. Connected with this
torso-like appearance of the philosophy as a whole, there is
so great an absence of art in many portions of the works of
Aristotle, as to have given rise to the opinion that we possess
not his own writings, but only the notes of his disciples.
This theory was first promulgated by Julius Scaliger about .
some of the works of Aristotle, but subsequently has been
more or less vaguely entertained about his works in general,
and especially about the Nicomachean Ethics.

‘ The waters’ are said to be ‘ from the exhaustless spring of
Aristotle, but the pitchers’ to have been ‘ supplied by others.’?
The truth or falsehood of this theory seems to be a question
of degree. There is no denying that the notes or compendia
of Peripatetic disciples, more or less dressed up, do go to form
part of the bulk of the Aristotelian works; for instance, we
shall see that the Hudemian Ethics were a composition of
this character. Also, we no doubt owe the redaction of many
of Aristotle’s writings to the care of his disciples. But beyond
this, the theory must not be extended. The unfinished style

? Julius Scaliger, in Arist. de 3 Xenophanem tanquam ab illo con-
Plantis, i. p. 11, ‘Cujusmodi commen- | scripti leguntur, illius quidem inex-
tationes a discipulis exceptas ejus | hausti fontis perennes aquas sapiunt,
nomine circumferri videtis. Etenim | alveos tamen aliorum esse manifestum
qui Commentarii contra Zenonem et | est.’

B2

4 ESSAY I.

of the writing, the looseness or inaccuracy of quotations, the
apparent familiarity of the allusions, and the occasional men-
tion of ‘hearers,’ must not lead us to conclude in a sweeping
manner that we have only notes from lectures. The scientific
depth and subtlety of the discussions in many parts, and their
tentative rather than conclusive attitude, is incompatible with
this assumption. Above all, we cannot blind our eyes to
the intense individuality which seems to mark the style of
Aristotle, which is no mere reproduction, but the words and
the sentences of the very man himself. Even his obscurity
is characteristic, and differs from the obscurity of a disciple
misunderstanding and garbling the philosophy of his master.
Nor must too much stress be laid on the word ἀκροᾶσθαι.
Partly, from a sort of ancient tradition, it corresponded to
our conception of reading; partly (as in the name φυσικαὶ
ἀκροάσει) it was used to denote more intimate and systematic
study of a subject, as opposed to popular knowledge. Partly,
Aristotle in making use of it, had in view his own oral in-
structions in the gardens round the temple of the Lycean
Apollo, But it must not be supposed that it would be an
entire account of his works to say that they are notes for
lectures any more than notes from lectures. Aristotle was
designing to complete the whole sphere of knowledge; he
was absorbed in his zeal for the accumulation of scientific
results and the perfection of scientific form, about artistic
form and literary structure he was indifferent, and death
arrested his manifold beginnings. His philosophy, which was
to cover the world, was springing and growing up all at once,
and nothing perfect. Let us now picture to ourselves a set
of philosophical treatises—all elaborately conceived, but all
more or less incomplete, to have been, subsequently to the
death of their author, we cannot tell how soon or how simul-
taneously — brought forth, perhaps out of disjointed and

THE STORY OF STRABO. 5

separately existing memoranda, and put together for publica-
tion, and we have perhaps the most adequate notion that can
be formed of the genuine parts of the so-called works of
Aristotle. This conception perfectly agrees with the testimony
of Cicero,’ who speaks, on the one hand, of certain exoteric
dialogues composed by Aristotle; on the other hand, of the
‘Commentaries’ which he ‘left behind him.’ The exoteric
dialognes appear to have been a few works in a popular vein
of thought, finished in point of style, and exhibiting what
Cicero praised as a ‘golden stream’ of diction. These may
in all probability have been earlier compositions, suggested
by the example of Plato. The ‘Commentaries’ have alone
descended to us: harsh and incomplete in style, unequal in
thought, sometimes obscure from brevity, at other times
prolix and self-repeating, devoid of all artistic treatment,.
setting at nought the restrictions of grammar—these yet, in
their rude and prematurely arrested form, outside which we
can often discern the patchwork of other hands, contain the
philosophy and the very words of Aristotle, and have more
influenced the thought of the world than any other uninspired
works.

We have now taken the first step towards a proper point of
view with regard to the literary history of the works of Ari-
stotle. The next step will be to convince ourselves of the
uncertain character of all ancient testimony on the subject,
so as to feel that internal evidence and criticism of the works
themselves can be our only sure guide. Let us advert then
to the celebrated story of the Fate of the Writings of Aristotle,
given first by Strabo,‘ and afterward repeated by Plutarch.
Strabo relates (ἃ propos of his account of Scepsis, a town in

3 De Finibus, v. 5. Academ. Prior. * Strabo, xiii. 1, 418.
Il, Xxxviii. 119. See infra, Appendix B.

6 ESSAY I.

the Troas) that the library and MSS. of Aristotle, being inthe
possession of Theophrastus, were by him bequeathed to one
Neleus of Scepsis, whose heirs, to elude the book-collecting
zeal of the Kings of Pergamus, concealed these treasures in a
vault. There they remained for ages, till finally, corrupted
with damp and worms, they were sold for a considerable sum
to one Apellicon of Teos. By him they were brought to
Athens, where he caused copies of them to be taken, himself
filling up on conjecture the gaps in the text, not however
happily, for he was more of a book-collector than a philo-
sopher. Soon after the death of Apellicon, Athens was taken
by Sulla, and this library was seized and brought by him to
Rome. There Tyrannio, the grammarian, obtained permission
to arrange the MSS. At the same time the booksellers had
numerous copies made by very careless transcribers. Hence
it came about (says Strabo) that the earlier Peripatetics, being
deprived of all the really philosophic works of Aristotle, were
reduced to mere rhetorical commonplaces in their philoso-
phizing; and the later ones, when the books came again to
light, were generally compelled to resort to a conjectural in-
terpretation of them, owing to their corrupt condition.

The same story is repeated by Plutarch,’ who probably took
it from Strabo, and who adds to it the further statements,
that Tyrannio put almost the entire MSS. into shape; that
Andronicus of Rhodes, getting numerous transcripts made,
gave publicity to a generally-received text of Aristotle ; finally,
that it was for no want of personal zeal or ability, but from
the loss of the original writings, that the Peripatetic school
had previously declined.

This curious history, if literally true, would represent to

* Plutarch, Vit, Sulle, c. 26.

THE STORY OF STRABO. 7

us the text of Aristotle as absolutely corrupt, frequent gaps
having been caused by physical circumstances, and these so
unskilfully filled up as to destroy the sense. It would repre-
sent to us that we possessed the works of Aristotle as a whole, »
but that they were defective in the parts. Internal evidence
does not bear out this account. An examination of the works
as we possess them does not show them to be in the condition
which Strabo would imply. The Characters of Theophrastus
indeed, and parts of the Hudemian Ethics, exhibit this kind
of corruption, but not the works of Aristotle in general. The
touches of an editorial hand often appear, but not as supply-
ing lacune. There is no trace of the conjectures of Apellicon.
When we turn to external evidence, we find that there must
have been some ground for the narrative of Strabo. Strabo
was the scholar of Tyrannio and the friend of Andronicus
(whose share, however, in the business he does not mention) ;
he therefore had the history of Sulla’s MSS. on the best
authority. The adventures recorded may have happened to
the autographs, or some of them, of Aristotle and Theo-
phrastus. But restrictedly to these. Strabo deserts history
for imagination when he says that Aristotle’s philosophical
writings were lost to the earlier Peripatetics. Investigations
tend to prove, as far as anything can be proved about so dark
a period, that all the important works of Aristotle were known
to the world during the 230 years which elapsed between the
death of Aristotle and the capture of Athens by Sulla. Many
of these works were made the basis of fresh treatises and
commentaries by his immediate followers, Theophrastus,
Eudemus, .Phanias, &c. It seems certain that a mass of
writings under his name, some genuine, others spurious, were
purchased by Ptolemy Philadelphus for the Alexandrian
library. His logical works must have been known to the
Stoics, who made a development of his principles. The

8 ESSAY I.

allusions to him in Cicero® show an amusing mixture of
They show that Cicero himself
had no scientific acquaintance with Aristotle’s philosophy—

knowledge and ignorance.

indeed that he possessed the most superficial and external
But he speaks as if claiming to
know the philosophical books, and as if there was a general

knowledge of the subject.

acquaintance with them existing among the Greek rhetoricians
and educated Romans of the day. His way of speaking is
quite incompatible with Strabo’s account of the recovery of
these books. . Nor do the earlier Greek commentators men-
tion it. Boethius alone speaks of Andronicus as ‘ exactum
diligentemque Aristotelis librorum et judicem et repertorem.’

On the whole then this famous story contributes hardly
anything to our knowledge of the Aristotelian text, except
(1) It tells us of a recen-

This accordingly stands

over against the Alexandrian copies, though to which of these

perhaps the following two points.
sion by Tyrannio and Andronicus.

two families our present edition of the text belongs, it seems
impossible to pronounce. (2) It shows us how entire was
the ignorance of Strabo as to the literature of philosophy.

He speaks without knowledge and without criticism of the

isolated fact that had come beneath his notice.

We see with

® As for instance in the Topics, 1.
1-3. Trebatius had seen the Topics of
Aristotle in Cicero’s library at the
Tusculan Villa, and had asked him
what the book contained. Cicero,
not to avoid trouble (as he says), but
thinking it more for the interest of
Trebatius, advises him to read the
work himself, or else consult a certain
learned rhetorician. Trebatius, how-
ever, was repelled by the obscurity of
the writing, and the rhetorician, when
consulted, said ‘he knew nothing
about Aristotle.’ Cicero thinks this

not to be wondered at, since even the
philosophers hardly knew anything
about him, though they ‘ought to
have been attracted by the incredible
flow and sweetness of the diction.’
Cicero now proceeds to give Trebatius
an account of the Topics of Aristotle,
but he evidently is only acquainted
with the first few pages of them. In
De Fin. ν. 5, where he quotes the
Nicomachean Ethics, he shows that
he has:never read them, for he praises
them as making happiness indepen-
dent of good fortune.

THE LIST OF DIOGENES. 9

how great caution we have to receive each separate testimony
coming to us from periods so uncritical.

Another instance of the negligence of antiquity is to be
found in the catalogue of the works of Aristotle, given by
Diogenes Laertius in his Lives of the Philosophers (Υ. 1. 22).
This catalogue exhibits at first sight an immense discrepancy
from the edition of Aristotle to which we are accustomed.
We miss the names of the great works, such as the Physical
Lectures, the Ethics, the Metaphysics. Instead of these, we
find a mass of apparently small and separate treatises
enumerated, often apparently popular works in the form of
dialogues, and even where more scientific works are specified,
there seems often to be rather a coincidence of subject than
an identity of the books with those which we possess. By
a rough computation, it appears probable that the list of -
Diogenes would correspond to a mass of writings about
four times the size of what remains at present, for Diogenes
specifies the sum total as amounting to 445,270 lines, which
at the rate of 10,000 lines to an alphabet or ream, would give
forty-four reams, whereas ten reams is the utmost extent of
the present aggregate. Granting, however, that the exoteric
writings and much beside are lost, the question is, How can
we reconcile what we have remaining with the titles given by
Diogenes? Take, for instance, the names of ethical works
scattered about in this list. Περὶ δικαιοσύνης δ΄. περὶ ἡδονῆς
d. περὶ τἀγαθοῦ γ΄. περὶ φιλίας d. ἠθικῶν 2. περὶ ἡδονῆς a
(repeated). Περὶ ἑκουσίου a. θέσεις φιλικαὶ β΄. περὶ δικαίων β΄.
Can we find anything in what we call Aristotle corresponding
to these names?

If the list in question were to be relied upon, it would
follow that Aristotle wrote nothing but comparatively iso-
lated treatises, which have been amalgamated by other hands.
More than one writer has accepted this hypothesis, and has

10 ESSAY I.

attempted to find in the works as we possess them many of
the treatises named by Diogenes. For instance, on this
principle the Vicomachean Ethics may be resolved into ‘ four
books of Ethics,’ plus ‘One book on the Voluntary’ (intro-
duced into Eth. Nic. 11.), plus two treatises on Pleasure,
plus ‘One Book on the Good’ (corresponding to Eth. Nic.
x.), plus ‘One Book on Friendship,’ and ‘Two Books of
Theses on Friendship’ (forming Eth. Nic. vu. 1x.); though
it would still be difficult to fit in the ‘ Four Books on Justice,’
and the ‘Two Books on the Just,’ and also to find anything
answering in the list to Book VI. of the Nic. Ethics. But
even were all difficulties of detail surmounted, a broader
view of the question shows us that the above-mentioned
hypothesis has only the most superficial plausibility, it will
not stand the test of either internal or external evidence.
Certainly the authority of Diogenes is not such as by itself
to weigh against probabilities. His work is a mere thought-
less compilation, written at a time when literature was in the
dregs, about the end of the second century. His débris of
anecdotes and quotations about the old philosophers is of
inestimable value from the lack of other information. But
every statement must be weighed by itself.

External authority at once contradicts the catalogue of
Diogenes. For authors earlier than he make mention of
entire works, of which he takes no notice. Not only does
Cicero specify the Nicomachean Ethics (De Fin. v. 5), but
also Atticus, a Platonic philosopher of the reign of Mareus
Aurelius, cited by Eusebius (Preparatio Evangelica, xv. 4),
speaks of the ethical works under their present titles, as
follows: αἱ γοῦν ᾿Αριστοτέλους περὶ ταῦτα πραγματεῖαι Ἐῤδή-
μειοί τε καὶ Νικομάχειοι καὶ Μεγαλῶν ᾿Ηθικῶν ἐπυγραφόμεναι
x.T.. Internal evidence is also equally decisive against our
considering the works of Aristotle to be an amalgamation of

THE THREE ETHICAL TREATISES. 11

smaller treatises complete in themselves. Here and there, it
is true, we find subjects worked out in a separate manner, the
different parts seem often to have too little relation to the
whole. That various portions of the Ethics, for instance,
were composed piecemeal and at different times, there seems
to be every reason for believing. But at the same time there
is another element in Aristotle which the list of Diogenes
would ignore—namely, the idea of vast completeness and
organic unity which presents itself constantly as an idea,
though by no means realized throughout his works. However
apparent may be the separateness of different parts of his
system, it is much more apparent that every science is opened
with a comprehensive plan, and proposing to itself an ex-
tended scope which is never carried out. Whatever therefore
may have been the origin of this catalogue, it stands com- -
pletely beside our present Aristotle. The most probable
conjecture is that it was copied from the backs of the rolls in
some library, without reference to the contents of the rolls
themselves. The fragmentary condition of Aristotle’s works,
and his separate mode of writing, no doubt sometimes favoured
this mode of labelling, and transcribers may for shortness
sake have separated that which the author intended to be
inseparable. Another ancient catalogue which exists agrees
in general with the present arrangement of the books. It is
Arabian, but is merely a translation of the catalogue given
by a certain Ptolemzus, a Peripatetic philosopher of unknown
date, who wrote on the life and works of Aristotle.

More and more we are led to rely on internal evidence
alone in deciding any question concerning the works of
Aristotle. Let us then apply these principles in discussing
the genuineness and criticizing the composition of the Nico-
machean Ethics. The latter point depends on analysis of
the work itself, the former implies some consideration of the

12 ESSAY I.

fact that among the reputed works of Aristotle there appear
also two other ethical treatises (not to mention the small
and evidently spurious fragment De Virtutibus et Vitiis),
namely, the Ludemian Ethics and the Magna Moralia.
We have seen before, that as early as the second century
these three ethical treatises were ranked, under their present
names, among the works ascribed to Aristotle. And the
first point that would naturally strike the reader would be
to ask an explanation of these names. Antiquity is ready, as
usual, with an answer of the most hasty and uncritical de-
scription, for we find Porphyry,’ in his Prolegomena to the
Categories, gravely stating, that “ Aristotle’s ethical works
consisted of a treatise addressed to Eudemus his disciple;
another, the Great Nicomacheans, to Nicomachus his father ;
and a third, the Little Nicomacheans, to Nicomachus his
son. Strange to say, this guess or tradition, from whatever
source derived, has been echoed pretty constantly since; and
in almost all commentaries on the ‘ Little Nicomacheans,’ it
is taken for granted that they are inscribed by Aristotle to
his son Nicomachus. Samuel Petit was perhaps the first to
see an improbability in the story. His objection was based
upon the fact that Nicomachus must have been a young
child at the time of the composition of the book. Petit
remedies the difficulty by finding out in the list of Archons
one named Nicomachus, and some other great man of the
name of Eudemus, to whom Aristotle’s books might be
worthily dedicated; an explanation quite in accordance with
the ideas of the seventeenth century.

If, unfettered by tradition, we look the question in the

7 Porphyr. Proleg. p. 9. διὰ μὲν | ἄλλα πρὸς Νικόμαχον τὸν πατέρα τὰ
γὰρ τὸ ἠθικὸν γεγραμμένα αὐτῷ εἰσὶ | μεγάλα Νικομάχια, καὶ πρὸς Νικόμα-
τὰ ᾿Ηθικὰ πρὸς Εὔδημον μαθητήν, καὶ | χον τὸν υἱόν, τὰ μικρὰ Νικομάχια.

THE THREE ETHICAL TREATISES, 15

face, we see at once that the account given by Porphyry is
absurd ; that in the first place, it is in the highest degree
improbable that Aristotle should have inscribed his books
to his disciple and to his son; and in the second place, if he
had done so, that the names ᾿Ηθικὰ Ἐῤδήμεια and ᾿Ηθικὰ
Νικομάχεια would not have implied this, still less could
᾿Ηθικὰ Μεγάλα have meant Ethics addressed to his father.
(1) We do not find any work of Aristotle’s composed with
this sort of personal reference, for the Ῥητορικὴ πρὸς ᾿Αλέξ-
avépov has been proved to be spurious. Far less in the
Ethics themselves is there any trace of a purpose of this kind.
The stern impersonality*® of Aristotle and the purely scientific
character of his enquiries, are quite opposed to the idea of a
book composed for, or inscribed to his son. Such an idea
would imply a false view of the whole tendency of the treatise, .
which is not to be regarded as a practical compendium, but
rather as a scientific treatise on moral subjects. It is indeed
the first treatise on Morals, written in uncertainty as to how
far they could be separated from Politics. It is characterized
by the freshness of a novel enquiry, and contains nothing
hortatory. Its unfinished appearance also renders it doubt-
ful whether it ever appeared in its present form during the
life of Aristotle. This idea of inscribing a book of Morals to
a son is essentially of later date and is suitable to Cicero.
But it is especially remarkable that Cicero knew nothing of
this story—of the Nicomacheans being addressed to Nico-
machus. He knew them by their name as Ethics of Nico-
machus and doubted whether they were by the father or the
son (De Fin. v.v.). (2) Indeed it is only natural that ᾿Ηθικὰ

® Perhaps the most remarkable | nists is alluded to; and Sophist. Elench.
places in which this impersonality | 33, where he speaks of his being the
relaxes itself are, Eth. Nic. i. 6, 1., | first to have laid the foundation of
where his friendship for the Plato- | logic.

14 ESSAY I.

Νικομάχεια should mean Ethics of, or by, Nicomachus, and
᾿Ηθικὰ Ἐὐδήμεια Ethics by Eudemus. Other works by
Eudemus are quoted with a similar title; cf. Alexander
Aphrod. on the Topics, p. 70. ἐν τῷ πρώτῳ τῶν ἐπιγραφο-
μένων Ἐδημείων ᾿Αναλυτικῶν (ἐπυγράφεται δὲ αὐτὸ καὶ Evdy-
μου ὑπὲρ τῶν ᾿Αναλυτικῶν). Those who wish against all
probability to translate Νικομάχεια, as if it were πρὸς Nexo-
paxov, appeal to the parallel word Θεοδέκτεια, mentioned in
the Rhetoric of Aristotle, m1. ix. 9. Αἱ δὲ ἀρχαὶ τῶν περιό-
δων σχεδὸν ἐν τοῖς Θεοδεκτείοις ἐξηρίθμηνται. They assume
that this means ‘ the Rhetoric inscribed to Theodectes.’ But
in fact, the contents of this book and the meaning of its name
are equally unknown. In all probability, it was merely a
summary by Theodectes, embodying some of the doctrines of
Aristotle.

The name Μεγάλα ᾿Ηθικὰ is an apparent anomaly, for in
point of bulk, this work is the least of the three treatises.
Spengel thinks that the name may have been given in refe-
rence to the intended completeness of its scope. Perhaps, —
however, the most probable account may be, that the name
is due to a merely external accident, to the humour of a
copyist or librarian. The work may have been labelled
‘ Great Ethics,’ to distinguish it from some adjacent Ethies
in the library, just as we find the Hippias μείζων and
ἐλάττων of Plato distinguished by these epithets from each
other.

It would seem at the first glance in the highest degree im-
probable, that Aristotle, engaged as he was in pushing out
philosophical analysis, enquiry, and speculation in all direc-
tions, and who, from the immensity of his undertakings, was
forced to leave the greater part of his works uncompleted,
should have been at the labour of composing three treatises
on the same subject, with the same scope and the same

THE THEORY OF SPENGEL. 15

results. And this is the character of the three treatises in
question. There is therefore strong ὦ priori probability
against their being all the work of Aristotle. When we ask
further what can be learnt from the titles they bear, we find
that the name Μεγάλα ᾿Ηθικὰ tells us nothing, being itself
an anomaly that requires explanation; and that the other
two titles would imply, that there have come down to us two
expositions of the ethical system of Aristotle, the one drawn
up by Nicomachus, the other by Eudemus. These two ex-
positions might stand on the same footing with each other,
or, again, might have a widely different character. The re-
lation between Aristotle and his expositor or editor might in
such cases vary almost indefinitely. It is possible on the one
hand that the editorship consisted in a mere mechanical
transcription. On the other hand it is possible that we have -
a mere nucleus or a mere collection of episodical fragments
properly belonging to Aristotle himself, while form, method,
and the conception of the whole are due severally to Nico-
machus or Eudemus—or thirdly, the thoughts alone may
be Aristotelian, and these may have been recast by the
expositor and not left wholly uncoloured by his own modes
of thinking.

Various are the shades of these hypotheses, which might
hold good according as internal evidence should enable us to
decide. Fortunately, the first point to be established is one
on which general consent and internal probability entirely
coincide—namely, that the Nicomachean treatise is to be
preferred above the Eudemian, as well as above the Magna
Moralia. Neither by the Greek scholiasts, nor by Thomas
Aquinas, nor by the succeeding host of Latin commentators
have the two latter treatises been deemed worthy of illustra-
tion, while the Nicomachean Ethics have been incessantly
commented on. This tacit distinction between the three

ΤΩ ESSAY I.

works was the only one drawn till the days of Schleiermacher,
who mooted the question of their relation to each other. He
at once pronounced they could not all belong to Aristotle,
and seeing clearly the irregularities in the Nicomacheans, he
was led to conclude that the Magna Moralia was the original
work and the source of the othertwo. This conclusion, how-
ever, has been set aside by the deeper criticism of Spengel,°
whose theory is now universally received in Germany,
and may be looked upon almost as a matter of certainty.
Spengel considers that in the Nicomachean Ethics we have
on the whole the work of Aristotle himself; in the Eudemians
a work by Eudemus of Rhodes, based on the former; in the
Magna Moralia a réswmé of both these preceding works,
compiled by some later Peripatetic.

Any one who compares the opening sentences of the three
treatises will be struck at once with a difference of manner.
The Nicomachean commencement—Il@ca τέχνη καὶ πᾶσα
μέθοδος, ὁμοίως δὲ πρᾶξίς te καὶ προαίρεσις, ἀγαθοῦ Twos
ἐφίεσθαι Soxet—is quite in the style of Aristotle. It reminds
us of the beginning of the Post. Analytics—Ilaca διδασκα-
Ala Kal πᾶσα μάθησις διανοητικὴ ἐκ προῦὔπαρχούσης γίνεται
yvaocews—or of the Metaphysics—Ilavtes ἄνθρωποι τοῦ εἰδέναι
ὀρέγονται φύσει. It is a universal proposition forming the
first step in an elaborate argument. This argument bases
the whole of Ethics upon the Aristotelian conception of τέλος,
on the practical chief good, or happiness, demonstrated to be
the final cause of life. The question then follows—What
science is to treat of this all-important conception? The
answer is ‘ Politics,’ which answer belongs to a Platonic point
of view, and shows that Ethics had not yet been separated

® Ueber die unter dem Namen des | ten, (in den Abhandl. der Philos.
Aristoteles erhaltenen ethischenSchrif- | philol. Klasse der K. Bay. Ahad. 1841).

THE THREE OPENINGS. 17

from Politics. Considerations of the method of this science

follow. All is systematic, and evinces a deep and comprehen-
sive, but at the same time a tentative, view of the subject.
The Ludemian Ethics commence quite differently. ‘O
μὲν ἐν Δήλῳ παρὰ τῷ Θεῷ τὴν αὑτοῦ γνώμην ἀποφηνάμενος
συνέγραψεν ἐπὶ τὸ προπύλαιον τοῦ Λητῴου, διελὼν οὐχ ὑπάρ-
΄ A > nr , > Ν ‘ Ν ἣ 1 Ἀ id VA
χοντα πάντα τῷ αὐτῷ, TO TE ἀγαθὸν καὶ TO καλὸν Kai TO ἡδύ,
ποιήσας

κάλλιστον τὸ δικαιότατον, λῷστον δ᾽ ὑγιαίνειν"
πάντων δ᾽ ἥδιστον, οὗ τις ἐρᾷ τὸ τυχεῖν.

Ἡμεῖς δ᾽ αὐτῷ μὴ συγχωρῶμεν" ἡ γὰρ εὐδαιμονία κάλλιστον
καὶ ἄριστον ἁπάντων οὖσα ἥδιστόν ἐστιν. In this opening
we can trace several characteristic peculiarities: (1) There
is an apparent attempt at style, the book is begun with an
attractive quotation, which is alien from Aristotle’s manner. .
(2) We recognise the quotation as having occurred in Lith.
Nie. τ. viii. 14. There, however, it is only mentioned in
passing as one of the λεγόμενα with which Aristotle com-
pares his definition of the chief good. Here it is amplified,
and quoted with more circumstance. This is character-
istic of the Hudemian Ethics, which often play a useful
part in furnishing learned references and more explicit
quotations for the Nicomacheans. For instance, they give
in amplified form the saying of Anaxagoras on Happiness,
and of Heraclitus on Anger; and a corrected statement of

the doctrine of Socrates on Courage.'? (3) We miss the

γορίας. αὐτὸς δ᾽ ἴσως ᾧετο τὸν ζῶντα
ἀλύπως καὶ καθαρῶς πρὸς τὸ δίκαιον ἤ

10 Eth. Eud. τ. iv., ᾿Αναξαγόρας μὲν
6 Κλαζομένιος ἐρωτηθεὶς tis 6 εὐδαι-

μονέστατος, “ οὐθείς, εἶπεν, “ὧν σὺ τινος θεωρίας κοινωνοῦντα θείας, τοῦτον

νομίζεις, ἄλλ᾽ ἄτοπος ἄν τις σοι φανείη.᾽
τοῦτον δ᾽ ἀπεκρίνατο τὸν τρόπον ἐκεῖνος
ὁρῶν τὸν ἐρόμενον ἀδύνατον ὑπολαμ-
βάνοντα μὴ μέγαν ὄντα καὶ καλὸν ἢ
πλούσιον ταύτης τυγχάνειν τῆς προση-

ὡς ἄνθρωπον εἰπεῖν μακάριον εἶναι. On
Heraclitus: Eth. Hud. u.vii., ἔοικε δὲ
καὶ Ἡράκλειτος λέγειν εἰς τὴν ἰσχὺν
τοῦ θυμοῦ βλέψας ὅτι λυπηρὰ ἣ κώλυσις
αὐτοῦ: “ χαλεπὸν yap’ φησι “ θυμῷ

18 ESSAY I.

tentative attitude, and gradually developed argument. In
the place of them we find a disposition to set forth results.
Above all: we miss what is most philosophical in Aristotle’s
system, the conception of the End, the identification of this
with the chief good; the definition of Politics and of their
method.

The Magna Moralia open with grammatical distinctness,
but with some confusedness of thought. ᾿Ἐπειδὴ προαιρού-
μεθα λέγειν ὑπὲρ ἠθικῶν, πρῶτον av εἴη σκεπτέον Tivos ἐστὶ
μέρος τὸ ἦθος. “Os μὲν οὖν συντόμως εἰπεῖν, δοκεῖ οὐκ ἄλλης
ἢ τῆς πολιτικῆς εἶναι μέρος. "Ἔστι γὰρ οὐθὲν ἐν τοῖς πολιτι-
κοῖς δυνατὸν πρᾶξαι ἄνευ τοῦ ποῖόν τινα εἶναι, λέγω δ᾽ οἷον
σπουδαῖον. Surely Aristotle would never have used this
argument, that ‘the character is part of Politics, because one
cannot act in political matters without exhibiting some moral
character.’ Aristotle’s connexion of Ethics with Politics was
for greater and deeper reasons; partly it was due to the his-
tory of Grecian moral science, which commenced with ques-
tions about the nature of justice, the law, the state, &c.;
partly it was from a grand conception of the state as a living
whole, including the individual as a subordinate part. The
writer of the Magna Moralia understands nothing of this.
He evidently writes at a later period, when practical Ethies
have attained an independent footing, and he tries to go back
and reproduce Aristotle’s point of view. He speaks after- .
wards as if standing as the representative of the Peripatetic!

μάχεσθαι. ψυχῆς yap ὠνεῖται’ On | first sight startling, he seems to quote
Socrates: Eth. Eud, mm. i., δευτέρα | Hth, Nic. τι. 2. 6. ὅτι δὲ ἡ ἔνδεια καὶ ἧ
[ἀνδρεία καθ᾽ ὁμοιότητα] ἣ στρατιωτική" ὑπερβολὴ φθείρει, τοῦτ᾽ ἰδεῖν ἔστιν ex
αὕτη δὲ δι’ ἐμπειρίαν καὶ τὸ εἰδέναι, | τῶν ἠθικῶν. Δεῖ δ᾽ ὑπὲρ τῶν ἀφανῶν.
οὐχ, ὥσπερ Σωκράτης ἔφη, τὰ δεινά, | τοῖς φανεροῖς μαρτυρίοις χρῆσθαι.
ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι τὰς βοηθείας τῶν δεινῶν. See | Spengel, however, acutely remarks
note upon Eth. Nic, m1. viii. 6. that the true reading must be not

1 In one passage, 1, v., which is at | ἐκ τῶν ἠθικῶν, but ἐκ τῶν αἰσθήσεων,

σα ΝΣ

EUDEMUS OF RHODES. 19

philosophy. Thus, after mentioning the former systems of
Ethics, those of Pythagoras, Socrates, and Plato, he adds,
οὗτοι μὲν οὖν ἐπὶ τοσοῦτον ἐφήψαντο καὶ οὕτως, ἐχόμενον δ᾽
ἂν εἴη μετὰ ταῦτα σκέψασθαι τί δεῖ αὐτοὺς λέγειν (1. i. 4). So
too I. xxxv. 26, ἀλλὰ βέλτιον ws ἡμεῖς ἀφορίζομεν. These ex-
pressions, however, are a mere echo of Aristotle’s way of
speaking. Spengel observes that the use of ὑπέρ in ὑπὲρ
ἠθικῶν (1. c.) is not in accordance with the practice of Ari-
stotle, who employs περὶ in similar cases. It is found how-
ever in Theophrastus. We presently meet with the words
πρῶτο“ μὲν οὖν ἐνεχείρησε IIvOaydpas. Aristotle always says
οἱ ΤἸΠυθαγόρειοι.

Passing on from these first sentences, the more we examine
the treatises in question, the more we are confirmed in accept-
Let us then

consider the hypothesis as provisionally established, and pro-

ing Spengel’s hypothesis with regard to them.

ceed to take such a general survey of the nature and contents
of the two subsequent and collateral Aristotelian treatises, as
may serve to show their relationship to Aristotle’s own ethical
system. Let us commence with a brief notice of Eudemus
and the Hudemian Ethics.

Eudemus of Rhodes was a leading scholar of Aristotle.
We have no particulars of his life.

silly story of Aristotle deciding in favour of Theophrastus

Aulus Gellius gives a

over Eudemus as his successor, by saying, that he ‘ preferred
Lesbian wine to Rhodian.’ Simplicius! has preserved a more

- αἰσθήσεων μαρτυρίοις χρῶνται.

confirming this conjecture by the
words of Stobeeus, who, with regard
to the Peripatetic Ethics, says, πρὸς
δὲ τὴν ἔνδειξιν τούτου τοῖς ἐκ τῶν
This
writer is therefore only borrowing;
not quoting, from Aristotle.

15. Simplic. ad Aristot. Phys. fol.
216, a, 7. This passage is referred
to by Stahr in his article on Eudemus,
in Smith’s Dictionary of Biography,
and may be found in Brandis’s Scholia
upon Aristotle, p. 404, b.9. See upon
it Stahr, Aristotelia, τι. p. 100, 189.

20 ESSAY I.

important notice, namely, a passage of the work of Andro-
nicus Rhodius on Aristotle and his writings, which contains
a fragment of a letter of Eudemus to Theophrastus, asking
for an accurate copy of a MS. of the fifth book of Aristotle’s
Physics. This testifies to the editorial labours of Eudemus.
Asclepius' records that Aristotle committed his MS. of the
Metaphysics to Eudemus, who was dissatisfied with the form
of the work, by which its publication was delayed; that on
the death of Aristotle some parts of the MS. were. missing,
and that these had to be completed from the other writings
We know that Eudemus" and

Theophrastus, and others of the Peripatetics, set themselves

of Aristotle by his survivors.

to compose treatises on subjects already treated of by Ari-
stotle.
systematizing and making known his philosophy. They no

In this they were probably actuated by a desire of

doubt endeavoured to complete what was obscure, and to
supply links in the arguments, derived from their recollections
of the oral teaching of the philosopher himself. They thus
furnished a sort of paraphrase'’ or commentary. Of the
writings of Eudemus, the following'® are mentioned by
ancient Greek authorities : a History of Geometry, a History

hy Asclepius, Proem.in Aristot. Meta- 4 Cf. Ammonius on the Categories

phys. (Brandis, Schol. in Arist. p. 519,
b. 39) γράψας τὴν παροῦσαν πραγμα-
τείαν ἔπεμψεν αὐτὴν Εὐδήμῳ τῷ ἑταίρῳ
αὐτοῦ τῷ ‘Podiw: εἶτα ἐκεῖνος ἐνόμισε
μὴ εἶναι καλὸν ὡς ἔτυχεν ἐκδοθῆναι εἰς
πολλοὺς τηλικαύτην πραγματείαν. ἐν
τῷ οὖν μέσῳ χρόνῳ ἐτελεύτησε, καὶ
διεφθάρησάν τινα τοῦ βιβλίου" μὴ
τολμῶντες δὲ προσθεῖναι οἴκοθεν οἱ μετα-
γενέστεροι διὰ τὸ πολὺ πάνυ λείπεσθαι
τῆς τοῦ ἀνδρὸς ἐννοίας, μετήγαγον ἐκ
τῶν ἄλλων πραγματειῶν τὰ
λείποντα, ἁρμόσαντες ὡς ἦν δυνατόν.

αὐτοῦ

(Brandis, Schol.in Aristot. p. 28 note).
of γὰρ μαθηταὶ αὐτοῦ Εὔδημος καὶ Φανίας
καὶ Θεόφραστος κατὰ ζῆλον τοῦ διδασκά-
λου γεγραφήκασι κατηγορίας καὶ περὶ
ἑρμηνείας καὶ ἀναλυτικήν.

15. Simplicius on the Physics, fol.
279 a. καὶ ὅ γε Εὔδημος παραφράζων
σχεδὺν καὶ αὐτὸς τὰ ᾿Αριστοτέλους,
τίθησι, κιτιλ. Brandis, Schol. p. 431 a.

16 The authorities for these works
are given by Fritzsche in his edition of
Eth, Eud. (Ratisbon, 1851). _Prol.
p. xv.

i i

THE EUDEMIAN ETHICS, 21

of Astrology, Analytics, Categories, De Interpretatione, De
Dictione, Physics, and lastly Ethics. These Ethics are quoted
by Aspasius in a Scholium on Eth. Nic. vu. p. 141, λέγει δὲ
καὶ Εὔδημος καὶ Θεόφραστος ὅτι καὶ ai καθ᾽ ὑπεροχὴν φιλίαι
ἐν τοῖς αὐτοῖς γίνονται, ἢ δι’ ἡδονὴν ἢ διὰ τὸ χρήσιμον ἢ δι᾽
ἀρετήν. The reference is to Eth. Eudem. vit. x. 9.

The Eudemian Ethics have suffered more from time than
the Nicomacheans. The text is notoriously corrupt. Parts of
the work are evidently lost, as for instance the eighth book
refers to a previous mention of καλοκαγαθία, which is not
now to be found. And there are also numerous unfulfilled
promises. As they stand, these Hthics consist of eight!”
books, of which the last is incomplete. Their contents may
be said roughly to be a reproduction in other words of the
contents of the Nicomachean treatise.

Books I. and II. correspond with Hth. Nic. 1.—1u. v.

Book III. corresponds with Eth. Nic. 111. vi.—xii., rv.

Books IV. V. VI. are word for word identical with Eth.
Nie. Vv. Vi. VI.

Book VII. contains in a compressed form Eth. Nic. vu.
and Ix.

Book VIII. is a mere fragment, of which the beginning is
wanting, and it is not probable that the author meant to end
his whole work where this present portion ends. It contains
entirely new matter, namely, certain ἀπορίαι as to the possi-
bility of misusing virtue, and as to the nature of good fortune,
and a discussion upon καλοκαγαθία.

The most remarkable point about the contents of the

_ Eudemian Ethics is the absolute identity of three books

Ἔν

1 Printed as seven books in Bek- | separate, and they certainly stand by
ker’s edition. But in some MSS. | themselves.
the last three chapters are placed

22 ESSAY I.

with three in the Nicomacheans. Hence arises the difficult
question of the authorship of these books. To which of the
treatises do they originally belong? This question may be
reserved for discussion in connexion with the composition of
the Nicomachean Ethics. We have spoken of the one treatise
being in general a reproduction of the other, let us now
advert to such differences and peculiarities as are discernible
in the exposition of Eudemus.

First, as regards style. The phraseology and the turn of
the sentences are, for the most part, a close approximation to
the writing of Aristotle. An abundance of quotations, and a
predominance of logical formule may however be observed.
But the greatest divergence from Aristotle occurs at that
point where style ceases to be an affair of particular words,
where method and general modes of thought exert an in-
fluence. Eudemus re-arranges and restates the ethical theory,
and here we at once perceive a difference ; for while the parts
are more summarily and dogmatically stated, about the whole
there seems a sort of confusion, so that it is almost impossible
to hold in one’s head the thread of one of the Eudemian
books. Also there are places where Eudemus is no longer
reproducing Aristotle. He sometimes enters upon questions
and ἀπορίαι of his own, as, for instance, with regard to the
voluntary (Hth. Eud. τι. 7), whether it consists in knowledge ~
or desire.

In these places he is more indistinct, more involved, and
unsatisfactory than even the obscure parts of Aristotle him-
self. The obscurity, too, seems of a kind which is due rather
to weakness than to depth of thought, it seems to arise from
an inability to maintain steadily a philosophic point of view.
An instance of this latter failing occurs in the question,
‘Whether does virtue make the end right, or the means?’
(Eth. Eud. τι. xi.), on which we shall have more to say here-

RN eee

THE EUDEMIAN ETHICS. 23

after; and in the expression, ai διανοητικαὶ ἀρεταὶ μετὰ λόγου
(11. i. 19), which is surely not a right mode of speaking: the
moral virtues are μετὰ λόγου, the intellectual excellences are
λόγοι. Already we are touching upon differences not so much
of style as of philosophy. The point of view of Eudemus
appears different from that of Aristotle; there are several
novelties and fresh questions introduced, and there is a later
and more developed psychology. The difference of point of
view consists in the abandonment of what might be called the
scientific context of Ethics,—the connection of the individual
with the state, of happiness with the chief good, of human
life with its final cause, being no longer preserved. This
peculiarity has the effect of making the Hudemian Ethics
correspond to the modern conception of a ‘ practical’ treatise ;
if by practical is understood moralizing without philosophy. -
Another fundamental difference consists in this, that whereas
Aristotle had represented contemplation as the highest human
good, Eudemus seems to have set aside this idea, and to have
substituted for it that of καλοκαγαθία, the aggregate and
perfection of moral virtues. The aim and standard of this
perfect quality he makes the service and contemplation of God,
so that the passions are to be subdued, and all external goods
only chosen in so far as they may be subservient to that end,
Vill. iii. 15. “His οὖν αἵρεσις καὶ κτῆσις τῶν φύσει ἀγαθῶν
ποιήσει τὴν τοῦ θεοῦ μάλιστα θεωρίαν, ἢ σώματος ἢ χρημάτων ἢ
φίλων ἢ τῶν ἄλλων ἀγαθῶν, αὕτη ἀρίστη, καὶ οὗτος ὁ ὅρος
κάλλιστος. Ei tis δ᾽ ἢ δι’ ἔνδειαν ἢ δι’ ὑπερβολὴν κωλύει τὸν
θεὸν θεραπεύειν καὶ θεωρεῖν, αὕτη δὲ φαύλη. "Ἔχει δὲ τοῦτο τῇ
ψυχῇ, καὶ οὗτος τῆς ψυχῆς ὁ ὅρος ἄριστος, τὰ ἥκιστα αἰσθά-
νεσθαι τοῦ ἄλλου μέρους τῆς ψυχῆς ἡ τοιοῦτον. Tis μὲν οὖν
ὅρος Tis καλοκαγαθίας, καὶ τίς ὁ σκοπὸς τῶν ἁπλῶς ἀγαθῶν,
ἔστω εἰρημένον. This elevated passage enters upon a subject
which we do not find discussed by Aristotle, namely, the con-

24 ESSAY I.

nection between religion and life. As far as we can judge of
Aristotle’s opinions on this question, the above passage gives
a different view from his. The words θεραπεύειν τὸν θεὸν
imply a different conception of the Deity from what we are
accustomed to find in Aristotle, and the connection here
made between moral virtue and theological contemplation is
opposed to the broad distinction made by Aristotle between
speculation and practical life, and is more like Platonism,
Also we may notice something peculiar in the formule here
used, ὅρος τῆς καλοκαγαθίας, and σκοπὸς τῶν ἁπλῶς ἀγαθῶν.
We have already specified in passing the chief novelties
introduced into the Ethics of Eudemus. They are (1) his
questions about the voluntary, which confusedly as they are
treated, show a growth in psychology and in ethical science,
for the want of a sufficiently profound theory of the in-
dividual will had been one of the chief defects in Aristotle’s
system ; (2) his enquiry as to the relation of virtue to pur-
pose in the moral syllogism. This is a later development
than is contained in the first books, at all events, of the
Nicomachean treatise; (3) his discussion of the influence of
fortune on happiness, which we find treated ina religious
spirit, though obscurely ; (4) his theory of καλοκαγαθία.
These differences grafted on to the system of Aristotle-are
not such as to entitle the Hudemian Ethics to any great
praise as an independent system, but they are interesting as
showing the relation of the Peripatetic school to Aristotle.
The so-called Magna Moralia consist of two books. The
conclusion of the second appears wanting. The whole pre-
sent uniformly the appearance of a réswmé of foregone con-
clusions, but the writer seems to have had before him not
only the Nicomachean and Eudemian Ethics, but also some
other source, perhaps the writings or the traditions of Theo-
phrastus. To this latter authority we might attribute the

NOTICES OF NICOMACHUS. 25

slight novelties that occur, as for instance, the sketch of the
history of morals (1. i. 4-8); an expanded statement of the
import of the word τἀγαθόν (1. i. 10, ii. 11), which in its arid
logical clearness forms a sort of Scholium upon Aristotle ;
some ἀπορίαι on justice (τι. iii.); and certain other minor im-
provements and additions. At the beginning of Book I. the
writer seems to follow Aristotle, afterwards he adheres rather
more closely to Eudemus. In one case, however, where
Eudemus had corrected Aristotle, namely, with regard to the
doctrine of Socrates on courage, the author of the Magna
Moralia repeats the original less correct statement. The
point of view coincides almost entirely with that of Eudemus :
but the writer indicates some sort of advance in stating still
more dogmatically than Eudemus the freedom of the will,
and with regard to the intellectual ἀρεταί he denies the name.
of ἀρεταί to these at all, though he discusses the intellec-
tual qualities, substituting however ὑπόληψις for τέχνη, and
throughout his writing confusing the words ἐπιστήμη and
τέχνη. On the whole, the Magna Moralia must be regarded
as a dry compendium, executed with less clearness, and ex-
hibiting the decline of the Peripatetic school, for the only
originality here is one that exhausts itself in paraphrase and
elucidation.

After these preliminary enquiries, we may now proceed to
examine the treatise that bears the name of Nicomachus,
which is our immediate concern. Of Nicomachus himself
scarcely anything is known. Eusebius (Prep. Evang. xv. 2)
quotes the following notice from Aristocles the Peripatetic :
Mera δὲ τὴν Πυθιάδος τῆς “Ἑρμείου τελευτὴν ’Apiototédns
ἔγημεν Ἑρπυλλίδα Σταγειρῖτιν, ἐξ ἧς υἱὸς αὐτῷ Νικόμαχος
ἐγένετο. “Τοῦτον δέ φασιν ὀρφανὸν τραφέντα παρὰ Θεοφράστῳ
καὶ δὴ μειρακίσκον ὄντα ἀποθανεῖν ἐν πολέμῳ. The fact of his
being educated by Theophrastus may have placed him in some

26 ESSAY I.

connection with the MSS. of his father. But the tradition
that he died while yet a youth in war, is not consistent with
the notice of him by Suidas (sub voce), which speaks of him
as a philosopher, the scholar of Theophrastus, and the author
of six books of Ethics, and of a commentary on his father’s
physical philosophy. These ‘ six books of ethics’ mentioned
by Suidas may in all probability be a confused allusion to
the Nicomachean Ethics of Aristotle. In Diogenes Laertius
also, the title seems to have caused a confusion with regard
to the authorship. nol δ᾽ αὐτὸν Νικόμαχος ὁ ᾿Αριστοτέλους
τὴν ἡδονὴν λέγειν τὸ ἀγαθόν (VIII. viii. 2). This refers to the
mention of Eudoxus, Eth. Nic. x. ii. 1. Taking then, on the
whole, this as the result of the testimony of antiquity, that
though nothing certain is known of Nicomachus, the son of
Aristotle, tradition agrees in coupling his name with the
chief of the ethical treatises among the Aristotelian works ;
not (as we have already proved) as being the person to whom
they are addressed, but as being in some sort redactor,
editor, or expositor of the ethical system: we may proceed at
once with certain confidence to pronounce that Nicomachus
was not the author of the Nicomachean Ethics in the same
way that Eudemus was of the Hudemians. None among all
the works of Aristotle is more definitely marked with the
signs of genuineness than the greater part of this treatise.
We have here all the qualities of an original work, the merits
and the faults of a fresh enquiry; style, manner, the philo-
sophy, the relation to Plato, all bespeak for this book the
actual composition of Aristotle himself, except in certain dis-
puted portions. And yet anything like a careful examina-
tion brings out equally clear traces of the hand of an editor.
If we take the first book and in connexion with it the
tenth book from the sixth chapter onwards, we cannot but
feel that here is a systematic ground-work for a science con-

—>

THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS. 27

ceived as a whole. In the first book the question is stated,
what is the chief good or end for man? Partly from a
Platonic way of viewing the subject, partly from Greek
notions in general, Aristotle identifies the end for the state
and the individual, and calls his science of the chief good
for man, ‘a kind of Politics.’ This point of view is taken
up again at the close of Book X., which in fact is a transi-
tion to Politics proper. But not only do the beginning and
the end of the Ethics coincide. Beside this, we see other
evidences of system equally strong in the preconceived idea
of the method of what is to follow, betraying itself in the
first two books. An instance of this may be noticed in the
deferring of any discussion upon the Contemplative life.
Had the first book been in any sense an isolated treatise, the
discussion could not have been deferred. Again, Aristotle
having given his definition of Happiness, and having com-
pared it with the theories of others, the last chapter of the
book opens a methodical analysis of the different parts of
that definition. This analysis is based upon a distinction
between moral and intellectual excellence. The second book
takes up the discussion,—defers the consideration of the
λόγος or moral standard, and gives that table of the virtues
which is afterwards followed in books third and fourth. On
the whole, speaking roughly, there appears at first sight
perfect logical sequence from the beginning of the first book
to the end of the sixth, and between the first six books and
the close of Book X. Suppose we grant also that continence,
pleasure, and friendship, are subjects essential to Ethics, we
might then say that the whole ten books possess a systematic
unity,—though in truth the existence of two separate treatises
on pleasure suggests a difficulty, which some persons evade
by denying that the treatise in Book VII. properly belongs to
this work of Aristotle.

28 ESSAY I.

Further consideration must oblige us very considerably
to modify these views. In the first place it soon becomes
apparent, that whatever general idea of system they may
contain, the Nicomachean Ethics cannot be regarded as a
finished work of art. In the best of Plato’s dialogues there
is an organic unity, a sort of omnipresence of the writer’s
mind throughout the various parts of his work; there are
subtle anticipations and subtle references backward ; nothing
seems redundant and nothing omitted. It would be in vain
to look for anything of this kind in the Ethics of Aristotle.
Repetitions, unfulfilled promises, wandering from the point
of view, unskilful joining of parts apparently written sepa-
rate,—these things induce the conviction, that if there is an
element of order and of unity in this book, there is also
another element of irregularity, confusion, and patchwork.
Not to leave these charges unsubstantiated, it may be as well
to give some instances of each, and it will afterwards remain
to state what seéms the most probable hypothesis as to the
composition of the work.

1. Under the head of ‘ repetitions’ may be comprehended
all those parts of the book which seem unnaturally to ignore
each other. The most striking instance of this is the co-
existence of the two treatises on Pleasure, which the most
strenuous partisan for the unity of the Hthics would never be
able to justify. These treatises are absolutely independent of
each other, and the latter partly repeats and partly contradicts
the former. But even setting this aside, even on the suppo-
sition that only one of the two belongs to this work, how are
we to justify on principles of art the arguments on the con-
nexion between pleasure and morals, which occur in the
third chapter of Book II.? Would it not have been possible
to find a more philosophical arrangement for this very deep
and important question, the relation of pleasure to morals?

*

MARKS OF DISORDER. 29

Are not the arguments in Book II. shallow as regards the
view of pleasure, and is not the treatise in Book X. too
isolated as regards morals? Another instance of repetition
occurs in Book V., where the voluntariness of an action is
discussed in terms rendered unnecessary by what had pre-
ceded in Book III. It is true that there is a reference back-
ward, V. viii. 3, Λέγω δ᾽ ἑκούσιον ὥσπερ καὶ πρότερον εἴρηται,
x.T.X. but this would be so natural an interpolation either
of the editor or of some later hand, that no stress can be laid
on it. The question is one not of external references, but of
internal method and unity. So too εὐβουλία is treated of in
Book VI., without any recollection of the account of βούλευσις
in Book III.; and πολιτική is defined and subdivided in the
8th chapter of Book VI. in a way that quite ignores the men-
tion of Πολιτική as a science at the opening of the Ethics..
Lastly, it must strike the reader as at all events strange, that
the account of Σοφία in Book VI. should contain no allusion
to the discussion of contemplation, as connected with happi-
ness, which is reserved for Book X., and that in the latter
discussion, there is no reference backward to all that had
before been said upon Σοφία. The question raised at the end
of Book VI. as to whether Σοφία produces happiness, is quite
incompatible with any recollection of the mention of the
contemplative life in Book I. or any prescience of the con-
cluding argument in Book X.

2. Unfulfilled promises and fallacious references, forward as
well as backward, may be genuine, or they may be interpolated.
Where they are genuine, they testify to an idea of method,
and of an extended scope. But they equally show that the
idea has not been realized, that the last hand of the writer is
wanting. Where they have the appearance of interpolations,
_ they point to the composite character of the book, and to the
meddling of the editor or the scribe. The first instance of

30 ESSAY 1.

the kind seems natural and genuine. 1. vii. 7.: Τούτων δὲ
ληπτέος ὅρος tis* ἐπεκτείνοντι yap ἐπὶ τοὺς γονεῖς καὶ τοὺς
ἀπογόνους καὶ τῶν φίλων τοὺς φίλους εἰς ἄπειρον πρόεισιν.
᾿Αλλὰ τοῦτο μὲν εἰσαῦθις ἐπισκεπτέον. This question, as to
where the circle is drawn round a man within which his
αὐτάρκεια radiates, is never reconsidered.

The next instance to be noticed occurs 11. vii. 16: ᾿Αλλὰ
περὶ μὲν τούτων καὶ ἄλλοθι καιρὸς ἔσται" περὶ δὲ δικαι-
οσύνης, ἐπεὶ οὐχ ἁπλῶς λέγεται, μετὰ ταῦτα διελόμενοι περὶ
ἑκατέρας ἐροῦμεν πῶς μεσότητές εἰσιν" ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ περὶ τῶν
λογικῶν ἀρετῶν. The first part of this programme corresponds
well enough to Books III. IV. V. But it cannot be said
that the last part corresponds to Book VI. For is it there
discussed, how the intellectual excellences are mean states ?
On the whole, however, these last few words have so ex-
tremely suspicious an appearance, that we may almost con-
fidently pronounce them not to have been written by Ari-
stotle. The very phrase λογικαὶ ἀρεταί belongs to a later
style than that of Aristotle. Whether Nicomachus is respon-
sible for the sentence, is a different question. Another un-
fulfilled promise occurs, 1x. ix. 8: Οὐ δεῖ δὲ λαμβάνειν po-
χθηρὰν ζωὴν καὶ διεφθαρμένην, οὐδ᾽ ἐν λύπαις" ἀόριστος yap ἡ
τοιαύτη καθάπερ τὰ ὑπάρχοντα αὐτῇ. "Ev τοῖς ἐχομένοις δὲ
περὶ τῆς λύπης ἔσται φανερώτερον. Now ‘in what follows’
there is no question about the nature of pain, except so far
as its nature is implied in its being the contrary of pleasure.
Certainly there is no explanation of the ‘ indefinite’ character
of pain, though in x. iii. 1, it is argued, that pleasure is not
indefinite. We cannot say then whether a vague recollection
of this latter point induced the editor or the copyist to intro-
duce the reference, or whether we have here an unfulfilled
promise made by Aristotle himself. A reference of another
kind, suggesting some difficulty, occurs in vim. i. 7: Οἱ μὲν

INEQUALITIES OF WRITING. 31

yap ν οἰόμενοι, ὅτι ἐπιδέχεται τὸ μᾶλλον Kal TO ἧττον, οὐχ
ἱκανῷ πεπιστεύκασι σημείῳ" δέχεται γὰρ τὸ μᾶλλον καὶ τὸ
ἧττον καὶ τὰ ἕτερα τῷ εἴδει. Ἐζρηται δ᾽ ὑπὲρ αὐτῶν ἔμπροσθεν.
The Scholiast on the passage observes, that something now
lost appears to be referred to, ἔοικε δὲ εἰρῆσθαι ἐν τοῖς ἔἐκπεπ-
τωκόσι τῶν Νικομαχείων. This is evidently a mere conjec-
ture. Considering how separate the last words in the sentence
stand, that they contain an un-Aristotelian formula (ὑπὲρ
αὐτῶν), and that they interrupt the grammar of the context,
perhaps it is best to consider them not Aristotle’s, but added
on. Some commentators imagine that the reference is to
the eighth chapter of Book II., where the mean is shown to
differ in degree and also in kind from the extremes. This
may have suggested itself to the mind of a person interpo-
lating the reference. But it is too vague and indistinct a -
resemblance to have been really alluded -to by Aristotle.
What the form of the reference would lead one to expect is,
an abstract logical discussion on the question, whether things
differing in kind can be compared with each in point of
degree.

4. Much of the Ethics seems written, as if the author had
first divided his subject into separate parts, and then had
worked out the analysis of those parts without taking thought
of their mutual relation. Thus zeal for the particular en-
quiries seems to overpower any consideration for the general
harmonious impression. This is perhaps the extreme of the
analytic tendency. The web of human life is divided into
its component threads, and each thread is followed out in
separation from the fest. Happiness, pleasure, virtue, wis-
dom, temperance, and friendship, each have their turn. At
one time Aristotle seems to speak entirely of moral virtue,
at another time entirely of happiness. Virtue is said to be
necessary for happiness ; but in the discussion of virtue, no

32 ESSAY I.

allusion to happiness is made. For virtue, or the mean, you
must have a standard in the practical reason; but when the
practical reason is defined, all mention of the mean is
omitted. This characteristic gives a disjointed appearance
to the Vicomachean Ethics. Partly, it is attributable to an
idiosyncrasy in the mind of Aristotle. Partly, no doubt, this
idiosyncrasy has been aggravated by the really unfinished
state of the present work. Not only in point of method do
the different parts hang ill together, but there is also an
inconsistency discernible in the manner of the writing. In
tone and colour the first book and the tenth seem to har-
monize. These seem to have been written together. Ona
level with these, both in moral elevation and in philosophical
interest, we may place Books VIII. and IX. In these four
books, the prominence of the metaphysical conception évép-
yeca is a token of their philosophical point of view. Books
II. III. IV. seem hardly above the popular level of thought.
Books V. VI. VII. are characterized by a confusion and in-
distinctness from which other parts of the work seem free.
Books VI. and VII. are also marked by a prevalence of
logical phraseology. ;

4. We now come to certain marks of joining and patch-
work, which are so inartificial, that they need only be set
down in order to be immediately recognised. vu. x. 5.—xi.
1: * The nature of continence and incontinence, and the re-
lation of these states to one another, has now been declared.
But pleasure and pain are subjects for the consideration of
the political philosopher,’ &c.

vu. xiv. g: ‘ About continence and incontinence, and plea-
sure and pain, we have now spoken, and the nature of each,
and how some of them are goods and some evils. Next we
shall speak also about friendship.’ vim. i. αν *But after
this it would follow to discuss friendship,’ &c.

AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. 33

IX. xii. 4: § Thus far then let the discussion of friendship
go; it will follow to investigate pleasure.’

xX. i. 1: * But after this, perhaps the next point is to in-
vestigate pleasure.’

No one could imagine that such links as these would be
employed to connect the parts of a work really written from
end toend. The very collision between the beginnings and
ends of books, the repetition in the first line of a fresh book
of the same words which concluded the book before, is very
awkward, and we do not find it elsewhere in Aristotle, though
it is true that it appears in the Hudemian Ethics. But even
passing this over, there is obviously something wrong about
the arrangement of a work which first says, ‘Having dis-
cussed pleasure we may now discuss friendship ; and some
pages later, ‘We have now discussed friendship, and it
follows to discuss pleasure.’ And the second treatise on -
Pleasure proceeds accordingly in the most naive manner to
bring forward arguments why pleasure should be discussed,
on account of the importance of the subject, and its con-
nection with morals, just as though it had never been men-
tioned before.

The above then are some of the most salient indications
of disorder and incompleteness in the Vicomachean Ethics.
No hypothesis can entirely explain them away. You cannot,
by dropping out so many chapters here and so many words
there, make the work smooth and entire. The only course is
to endeavour to form as fair an opinion as possible on the
probable method in which Aristotle composed the work, and
the condition in which he left it. And Nicomachus, or the
copyist, may be answerable for the rest.

The most important question on this part of the subject
is as to the authorship of Books V. VI. VII. We have
already seen that these books occur word for word in the

D

94 ESSAY I.

Eudemian Ethics. The question is, to which of the two
works do they originally and properly belong? There have
been various hypotheses on the subject. The first and most
moderate is that started among the moderns by Casaubon,
that the treatise on Pleasure in Book VII. is not by Aristotle
but by Eudemus. This supposition, if we could accept it,
would no doubt remove great awkwardness from the appear-
ance of the Nicomachean Ethics. But from grounds of
a priori probability we may safely conclude that this sup-
position cannot be the true one. For though it is possible
to conceive that the whole of these three books may have
been introduced into the one treatise from the other, and
may have brought along with them a superfluous discussion
on Pleasure to a work already treating of the subject; it is
not possible to believe that a treatise on Pleasure should be
separated from its context in the Ethics of Eudemus, and un-
necessarily transplanted into the Ethics of Aristotle. More-
over, if the last four chapters of Book VII. were written by
Eudemus and introduced here, how came it about that the
remainder of Book VII., and the whole of Books VI. and V.,
written by Aristotle, were afterwards transferred to the work
of Eudemus? Those who wish to operate for the benefit
of the Nicomachean Ethics, must use the knife deeply or not
at all. They must separate three entire books, or else leave
the excrescence untouched.

The second hypothesis is that adopted by a recent editor
of the Kudemian Ethics (Fritzsche), who maintains that
Book V. belongs to the work of Aristotle, Books VI. and VII.
to that of Eudemus. For the same reasons as before, we
may say that it is almost impossible to believe in this double
transference. We can imagine that one treatise may have
been left imperfect, or may have been mutilated, and that
its deficiencies were supplied from the other. But it is hard

AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. 38

to believe, without any external evidence, in the imperfection
or mutilation of both works, and in a system of mutual
accommodation arising out of the wants of each.

The only suppositions then which remain open to us are,
either that the three books in question are by Aristotle, or
that they are by Eudemus. If we can on other grounds
allow them to be the work of Aristotle, there is no in-
superable obstacle in the double treatise on Pleasure. We
must at once conclude that that in Book VII. is an earlier
essay, on which Aristotle afterwards improved. We might
say, the treatise in Book VII. is dialectical, merely opposing
the Platonists. That in Book X. is scientific, giving a more
complete analysis of the subject. Instances occur in the
Metaphysics of short discussions, which appear repeated in a
more or less changed form. Of course a repetition of this
kind is due to the editors of Aristotle. They were naturally
reluctant to lose or omit any part of his writings. And hence
it may have come-about, that a treatise on Pleasure super-
seded and discarded by its author was afterwards revived
and awkwardly grafted upon one of his works. It is not on
_ the ground of these few last chapters that the genuineness of
the whole three books is brought to an issue.

The chief arguments in favour of attributing these books
_ to Aristotle are—(1) The fact that they are found in his
treatise, and have been constantly received as part of it, and,
in fact, are required to complete it. (2) That they appear
to be quoted by Aristotle himself in the Metaphysics and
- Politics. (3). That they are said to be completely Aristo-
telian in style. Against these arguments might be pleaded —
(1) That'they are found in the work of Eudemus. And if we
attribute them to Eudemus, we shall be only applying to
these books the hypothesis which some would apply to the
_ whole treatise, or even to all the works of Aristotle—namely,

D2

36 ESSAY I.

that they consist of the notes of his scholars. Moreover, the
very name, Ethics by Nicomachus, might suggest the pro-
bability that something might be found in a work so called,
not coming purely and entirely from Aristotle, while the fact
that these books are required to complete the system does
not prove their genuineness, so much as account for their
having been borrowed; especially if it turns out that they do
not exactly fit, and give a seeming rather than a real com-
pleteness to the Nicomachean Ethics.

(2) An examination of the places where these books are
said to be quoted a little weakens the argument drawn from
those quotations.

In Metaphys. τ. i. 17, Book VI. appears to be referred to.
Εἴρηται μὲν οὖν ἐν τοῖς ᾿Ηθικοῖς τίς διαφορὰ τέχνης καὶ ἐπι-
στήμης καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν ὁμογενῶν" οὗ δ᾽ ἕνεκα νῦν ποιούμεθα
τὸν λόγον, τοῦτ᾽ ἐστίν. κ.τ.λ.

In Politics 11. ix. 3, Book V. seems quoted, ὥστ᾽ ἐπεὶ τὸ
δίκαιον τισίν, καὶ διήρηται τὸν αὐτὸν τρόπον ἐπί τε τῶν πραγ-
μάτων καὶ οἷς, καθάπερ εἴρηται πρότερον ἐν τοῖς ἠθικοῖς.

So too in Politics 11. xii. 1, δοκεῖ δὲ πᾶσιν ἴσον τι τὸ δίκαιον
εἶναι καὶ μέχρι γέ τινος ὁμολογοῦσι τοῖς κατὰ φιλοσοφίαν λόγοι»,
ἐν οἷς διώρισται περὶ τῶν ἠθικῶν" τὶ γὰρ καὶ τισὶ τὸ δίκαιον
καὶ δεῖν τοῖς ἴσοις ἴσον εἶναί φασιν.

We see about the last of these passages that it is πὸ quo-
tation at all, but merely an assertion that, with regard to
justice, people in general agree to a certain extent with the
philosophic theory of ethics, &c. In the second passage, there
are all the marks of an interpolated reference. In the first
passage the reference is general, being to doctrine not to
words. We possess no doubt the ethical doctrine of Aristotle,
as far as he had completed it, but do we possess it altogether
in his own words?

(3) As to the style, we must bear in mind the very close

ee a ΨΨΉΟ

AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. 37

resemblance of the style of the Eudemian Ethies to that of
Aristotle. Perhaps nothing in the present books might have
struck us as remarkable, but for the fact that they already
stand as part of the Hudemian Ethics. And this leads us to
institute a closer scrutiny. And out of this scrutiny there
becomes apparent something confused, and what we might
call Eudemian, about the writing, and something about the
philosophy, on the one hand later and more mature, on the
other hand slurred and indistinct. Many will, no doubt, feel
the argument from style to be subtle and evanescent, and, de-
clining to be convinced by it, they will deny the possibility of
distinguishing with certainty between the hand of the Master
and the imitative work of the School. To such persons we
submit that at all events it is impossible to sum up and
convey in a few lines the import of an evidence which is in
its nature essentially cumulative. It is not on the form of ᾿
this or that particular sentence by itself that the question
turns, and by quoting isolated Eudemianisms (or what we
consider such), we should only weaken the argument to be
drawn from them. We can only refer to the disputed books
themselves, and if, after going through the peculiarities in
detail which will be pointed out in the notes, any one still
denies that there is any difference in the writing between
the Nicomachean and the Nicomacho-Eudemian books, there
is nothing more to be said on the subject.

As to the philosophy of these books, it is to be noticed that
they prominently contain the doctrine of the practical syl-
logism, which on the other hand is not applied in Book ITI.
to the explanation of the will. There is also something very
mature in the formula given in Book VI. for the definition
of virtue. Σωκράτης μὲν οὖν λόγους τὰς ἀρετὰς ᾧετο εἶναι
(ἐπιστήμας γὰρ εἶναι πάσας), ἡμεῖς δὲ μετὰ Noyou(xiii. 5). Again
in the use of the terms ὅρος and σκοπός, we observe something

33 ESSAY I.

which has no parallel in other books of Aristotle, and which
is apparently an innovation introduced into the system by
Eudemus. Compare Eth. Nic. vi. i. 1, ἐν πάσαις yap ταῖς
εἰρημέναις ἕξεσι, καθάπερ καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν ἄλλων, ἐστί TIS σκοπὸν
πρὸς ὃν ἀποβλέπων ὁ τὸν λόγον ἔχων ἐπιτείνει καὶ ἀνίησιν----
and γι. i. 3, ἀλλὰ καὶ διωρισμένον (δεῖ εἶναι) tis τ᾽ ἐστὶν ὁ
ὀρθὸς λόγος καὶ τούτου τίς 6pos—with Εἰ ἦι. Hud. τι. v. 8, tis
δ᾽ ὁ ὀρθὸς λόγος, καὶ πρὸς τίνα δεῖ ὅρον ἀποβλέποντας λέγειν
τὸ μέσον, ὕστερον ἐπισκεπτέον. As we have seen, Eudemus
makes the great ὅρος to consist in the contemplation and
service of God. Eth. Eud. vin. iii. 16, τίς μὲν οὖν ὅρος τῆς
καλοκαγαθίας, καὶ τίς ὁ σκοπὸς τῶν ἁπλῶς ἀγαθῶν, ἔστω
εἰρημένον. Surely this new formula is a confusion of Ari-
stotle’s ethical philosophy, for whereas before ὀρθὸς λόγος was
made the standard of virtue, here a standard of that standard
is introduced,—xal τούτου tis dpos. Again, does not the
mention of σκοπός in this formal way (not merely in a meta-
phorical sense, as in Hth. Nic. 1. ii. 2) clash, as it were, with
Aristotle’s doctrine of τέλος ὃ

Another piece of Eudemian philosophy shows itself in the
theory that virtue gives us the end, and wisdom the means
(or as they are here called, τὸν σκοπόν and τὰ mpds τοῦτον),
see Eth. Nic. vi. xii. 6, Vi. xii. 10, VII. viii. 4. Whatever be

the value of this doctrine in itself, it does not harmonize with _

the theory of moral faculties given in Eth. Nic. Book IIL;
but it coincides perfectly with the Eudemian Ethics, where
this very question is the subject of a chapter (Hth. Hud. τι.

xi.). Πότερον ἡ ἀρετὴ ποιεῖ τὸν σκοπὸν ἢ τὰ πρὸς τὸν σκοπόν: Ὁ

With regard to the treatise on Pleasure in Eth. Nic. Book
VII., we may notice that it opens with a reference back
which is rather more applicable to the Eudemians than to
the Nicomacheans, Τήν te γὰρ ἀρετὴν καὶ τὴν κακίαν τὴν
ἠθικὴν περὶ λύπας καὶ ἡδονὰς ἔθεμεν (ΧΙ. 2). This might indeed

AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS V. VI. VII. 39

allude to Eth. Nic. τι. 111. το, ὥστε καὶ διὰ τοῦτο περὶ ἡδονὰς
καὶ λύπας πᾶσα ἡ πραγματεία καὶ τῇ ἀρετῇ καὶ τῇ πολιτικῇ.
But the identification of virtue and vice with pleasure and
pain is more definitely expressed in Eth. Hud. τι. i. 24, 11. ii.
I, 11. v. 8. And it is more after Aristotle’s manner to begin
a treatise without such a reference, as we find him doing
Hth. Nie. x.i. 1. The distinctive characteristic of the trea-
tise in Book VII., as compared with the latter, seems to be
that it is less of a scientific account, and exhibits a more
practical tendency. On the one hand, the formula for ex-
pressing pleasure is less exact, and the relation of pleasure to
the chief good is less clearly enunciated. On the other hand,
there seems to be some reference to the theory of incon-
tinence. While it is acknowledged that all pleasure is not
bodily pleasure, bodily pleasure is in reality almost exclu-
sively discussed ; and it is pointed out, how by necessities of
nature and temperament men are led to run into bodily plea-
sures. Kal διὰ ταῦτα ἀκόλαστοι καὶ φαῦλοι γίγνονται (xiv. 6).
Not only is this practical and moral feeling characteristic of
Eudemus, but also the materialistic tendency shown in these
chapters, and indeed throughout Book VII., was a tendency
into which the Peripatetic scholars seem to have fallen, and
which runs out into extremity in many of the ‘ Problems’
falsely attributed to Aristotle.

When we ask fairly, Do these three books complete the
system of Aristotle’s Ethics, on the supposition that they are
genuinely his? the answer must be, that they cannot be said —
to do so. What we most essentially want after the conclu-
sion of Book IV. is a theory of the Λόγος or moral standard.
But can Book VI. be said to supply this? In the first place,
we have already noticed the awkwardness of the phrase made
use of by Eudemus, ai διανοητικαὶ ἀρεταὶ μετὰ λόγου. This
same confusion of phrase is carried all through Book VI. of

40 ESSAY I.

Eth. Nic. Φρόνησις equally with ἐπιστήμη and τέχνη is de-
scribed as a ἕξις μετὰ λόγου. We. might perhaps have
imagined that this λόγος was some deeper law of the con-
sciousness, lying behind φρόνησις and regulating it. But the
reverse statement occurs at the end of Book VI., where
φρόνησις is made to regulate the λόγος (πάντες ὅταν ὁρίζωνται
τὴν ἀρετὴν προστιθέασι τὴν ἕξιν,---τὴν κατὰ τὸν ὀρθὸν λόγον,
ὀρθὸς δ᾽ ὁ κατὰ τὴν φρόνησιν. xiii. 4). Thus there isa careless-
ness of formula, which impairs the value of this part of the
theory. Suppose we accept φρόνησις as Aristotle’s term for
the moral standard, we must in the first place miss any
explanation of its connection with the mean; secondly, we
do not find it harmonized with βούλησις, βούλευσις, and
προαίρεσις, as they are described in Book III. Again we
find it variously and incongruously set forth; 1st, as pru-
dence, though its relation to happiness is not drawn out (VI.
v. 2); 2nd, as including all human interests in its scope (VI.
vii. 6); 3rd, as universal (vi. vii. 7); 4th, as particular (7b.) ;
5th, as intuitive (vi. viii. 9); 6th, as acquired by experience
(vi. viii. 5); 7th, as a faculty of ends (v1. ix. 7); 8th, as a
faculty of means (VI. xii. 9); gth, as depending on the moral
character (VI. xii. 10); roth, as a sort of universal wisdom
and perfected condition, both of the reason and the will, so
that he who possessed it could do no wrong (vi. xiii. 6,
vil. ii. 5). These contradictions and incongruities, when put
together, allow us perhaps to form a general conception in
which they may be all reconciled; but scattered about as
they are in the sixth book of Hth, Nic. they present a very
unphilosophical and unsatisfactory appearance, and make us
doubt whether Aristotle himself can have been the author of
this very imperfect statement. That he was the author in
some sense of the theory we cannot doubt, and we know
from Metaphysics, τ. i. 17, that the psychology of the intel-

AUTHORSHIP OF BOOKS VY. VI. VII. 41

lect,—the difference οἵ ἐπιστήμη from σοφία, &e., formed
part of Aristotle’s ethical system, though we must also re-
mark that σοφία is differently represented in the Meta-
physics from what it is in Eth. Nic. Book VI., and we may
well suspect that the theory of φρόνησις also is to some
extent coloured by the views of Eudemus.

The same criticism applied to Book V. discloses also its
imperfections, when considered as a supplement to the lucid
account of the virtues in Books II.-1V. It gives a very in-
distinct answer to the question, ‘In what sense are the two
kinds of justice mean states?’ which was proposed for dis-
cussion, Eth. Nic. τι. vii. 16. In Book V. Aristotle’s theory
of justice looms upon us vaguely through a cloud. We know
that he differed from Plato in his conception of justice, that
he attributed to it a more special character, but how indis-
tinct are the arguments (vy. ii. 1-6) by which this special
character is established! In Chapter 4th, διορθωτικὸν δίκαιον
is spoken of as applicable both to voluntary and involuntary
_ transactions, but of the former kind there is no explanation
given. What is the relation of that justice in exchange, of
which the principles are stated in Chapter 5th, to this “ cor-
rective justice’? Granted that the two divisions of justice,
viewed politically, into distributive and corrective, are of con-
siderable importance (they were apparently known to Plato
before Aristotle), yet these should not in a moral treatise
absorb the whole account of the matter. The moral view of
justice as an individual virtue or duty is here greatly defi-
cient. Partly we must conclude that the theory of Aristotle
was immature, partly that it is ill-stated by Eudemus. In
the last chapter of the book we find an irregularity which
proves the influence of unskilful editorship. There is a
repetition of a question already answered. In all probability
the book was meant to end at the conclusion of Chapter ro.

42 ESSAY I.

Those who start with the supposition that the Nicomachean
Ethics are a finished treatise from which they have only to
reject glaring irregularities, are in the habit of saying that
Book V. is by Aristotle except the last chapter, which is by
Eudemus. For this hypothesis there is not the slightest
evidence, either internal or external.

Arguments might be multiplied to show that in all pro-
bability Books V. VI. VII. are the work of Eudemus, just in
the same sense as the Hudemian Ethics are his werk, namely,
they are his exposition of the theory of Aristotle slightly
modified by his own views. Whether, as in the case of the
Metaphysics (above mentioned p. 20), parts of Aristotle’s own
ethical writing which corresponded to these books have been
lost, and the lacuna supplied from the exposition of Eudemus,
or whether never anything but an oral theory of this part of
the system existed, it seems impossible to say. Aristotle’s
reference to the theory (Metaphys. 1. i. 17), makes it more
probable that something was written, but we must not hence
conclude that the Hthies was ever a finished work, or pub-
lished in the lifetime of Aristotle. His quotations in the
Metaphysics and Politics do not by any means prove this.
Aristotle was probably carrying on his various works together,
and thus might naturally refer from one which was in con-
ception later, to one which was in conception more complete,
though not yet given to the world.

It would be easy then to form a hypothesis to account for
the present condition of the Nicomachean Ethics. A com=
parison of their beginning and end might seem to show that
the work is constructed on a scientific frame. We might say
that without doubt these first and last books were written by
Aristotle himself. That he probably drew out at the same
time the entire plan for the intermediate books. That the
separate parts of his subject, divided according to this plan,

GENERAL HYPOTHESIS. 43

he must have worked out according to his custom at different
times. That these parts therefore have different degrees of
connection with the whole, different degrees of completeness
in themselves. Thus the treatises on the Voluntary, on
Pleasure, and on Friendship, have all an introduction, show-
ing that they are meant to form part of an ethical system.
But the treatise on Friendship in three places uses the phrase
καθάπερ ἐν ἀρχῇ εἴρηται (VIII. ix. I, VIIL. xiii. I, IX. iii. 1), to
denote its own earlier chapters, as if being an independent
work. It also uses the same phrase (1x. ix. 5) to denote the
beginning of the entire Ethics. We might say then that
Books VIII. and IX. have a double nature; on the one
hand they are a separate treatise, on the other hand part
of a larger work. We might conceive these ‘disjecta mem-
bra’ of Aristotle’s Ethics lying among his papers at his death,
and imagine that some time may have elapsed before Nico-
machus, or whoever was the first editor, took in hand their
amalgamation; that in the meanwhile Eudemus may have
been writing his system; that part of the original system of
Aristotle being now lost or for some cause or other wanting,
Nicomachus took three of the Eudemian books as being the
nearest approach to the doctrine and to the very words of
Aristotle, and grafted them on with the view of presenting
a completed treatise to the world. After all, however, any
hypothesis of the kind could only be a mere shot in the dark.
To those cautious minds who would immediately rebuke
such guess-work, we would submit that, at all events, the
Nicomachean Ethics are put together out of two separate,
and, to some extent, heterogeneous parts.

ESSAY II.

Soe ἌΞΕΞΞΞ.

On the History of Moral Philosophy in Greece
previous to Aristotle.

N the Ethics of Aristotle there are but few direct allusions
to moral theories of other philosophers. Plato’s theory
of the idea of good, viewed in its relation to Ethics (1. vi.); 3
Socrates’ definition of courage (111. viii. 6); of virtue (τι eect a
.. xiii. 3); his opinion of incontinence (vi. ii. 1); Eudoxus’ pee

‘theory of pleasure (x. ii. 1); the Pythagorean definition of
justice (v. v. 1); and Solon’s paradox (1. x.), are perhaps the
only ones which are by name commented on. There are
constant impersonal allusions to various opinions (the λεγό-
μενα on the subject in hand); some of these Aristotle attri-
butes to ‘ the few,’ that is, the philosophers; others he speaks
of as stamped with the consent of ‘the many and of ancient
times.’ (I. viii. 7.) But there is no connected history of
ethical opinions or ethical systems to be found in this work
of Aristotle. His Metaphysics, his Physical Lectwres, and
his De Animd, each commence with a historical introduc-
tion, so that the various problems to be answered in these
several sciences are made to develope themselves out of the
attempts and the failures of previous enquiries. But we miss
here any such opening, and the reason is that Ethics were
only first beginning to have an existence as a separate
science,—with Aristotle. Before the fifth century, philo-
sophy had been entirely physical or metaphysical; with the
Sophists and Socrates thought was directed to the rationale
of human life, to discussions of virtue and justice and the

ails ai te é

d
;
ἡ

THE HISTORY OF ETHICS. 45

duties of a citizen. But before Plato there were no scientific
treatises on moral subjects, and even in Plato there was no
separation between Morals and Politics. Aristotle beginning
his treatise in a tentative way, and partly following the lead
of Plato, speaks of his science as ‘a sort of Politics’ (1. ili. 1);
at the same time he gives it a treatment which effectually
separates it from Politics. By reason then of this tentative
attitude and this silence of Aristotle, we are left to discuss
for ourselves the beginnings of moral philosophy in Greece ;
which it is indeed necessary to do, since a system of any kind
can only be properly understood by knowing its antecedents.

The author of the Magna Moralia prefixes to his book the
following brief sketch of the previous progress of the science.
‘The first to attempt this subject was Pythagoras. His
method was faulty, for he made virtue a number, justice a
cube, &c. To him succeeded Socrates, who effected a preat
advance, but who erred in calling virtue a science, and in
thus ignoring the distinction between the moral nature
(πάθος καὶ 700s) and the intellect. Afterwards came Plato,
who made the right psychological distinctions, but who
mixed up and confused ethical discussions with ontological
enquiries as to the nature of the chief good.’ In a shadowy
way this passage represents the truth; for it is true that in
the pre-Socratic philosophy, of which the Pythagorean system
may stand as a type, ethical ideas had no distinctness, they
were confused with physical or mathematical notions. Also
the faults in the Ethics of Socrates and Plato are here rightly
stated. But it is a confusion to speak of Pythagoras as a
moral philosopher, in the same sense that Socrates and Plato
were so, or to speak of Socrates succeeding Pythagoras in the
same way that Plato succeeded Socrates. Even were the
account more accurate, that it is too barren to be in itself
very useful, every one will acknowledge.

46 ESSAY II.

Renouncing any attempt to trace a succession of systems
(which indeed did not exist), until we come to the limited
period of development between Socrates and Aristotle, let us
take a broader view of the subject, and divide morality into
three eras, first, the era of popular or unconscious morals;
second, the transitional, sceptical, or sopbistic era; thirdly,
the philosophic or conscious era. These different stages ap-
pear to succeed each other in the national and equally in the
individual mind. The simplicity and trust of childhood, the
unsettled and undirected force of youth, and the wisdom of
matured life. First, we believe because others do so; then,
in order to obtain personal convictions, we pass through a stage
of doubt; then we believe the more deeply and in a some-
what different way from what we did at the outset. On
these three distinct periods or aspects of thought about moral
subjects,gnuch might be said. The first thing to remark is,
that they are not only successive to each other if you regard
the mind of the most cultivated and advanced thinkers of
successive epochs, but also they are contemporaneous and in
juxtaposition to each other, if you regard the different de-
grees of cultivation and advancement among persons of the —
same epoch. In Plato’s Republic we find the three points
of view represented by different persons in the dialogue.
The question, What is justice? being started, an answer to
it is first given from the point of view of popular morality in
the persons of Cephalus and of his son Polemarchus, who
define it to be, in the words of Simonides, ‘ paying to every
one what you owe them.’ To this definition captious diffi-
culties are started,—difficulties -which the popular morality,
owing to its unphilosophical tenure of all conceptions, is quite
unable to meet. Then comes an answer from the Sophistical
point of view, in the person of Thrasymachus, that ‘ justice
is the advantage of the stronger.’ This having been over-

THREE ERAS OF MORALITY. 47

thrown, partly by an able sophistical skirmish, partly by the
assertion of a deeper moral conviction,—-the field is left open
for a philosophical answer to the question. And this ac-
cordingly occupies the remainder of Plato’s Republic, the
different sides of the answer being represented by different
personages ; Glaucon and Adeimantus personifying the prac-
tical understanding which is only gradually brought into
harmony with philosophy, Socrates the higher reason and
the most purely philosophical conception. Almost all the
dialogues of Plato, which touch on moral questions, may
be said to illustrate the collision between the above-men-
tioned different periods or points of view, though none so
fully as the Republic. Some dialogues, which are merely
tentative, as the Luthyphro, Lysis, Charmides, Laches, &c.,
content themselves with showing the unsatisfactoriness of the
popular conceptions; common definitions are overthrown; -
the difficulty of the subject is exposed ; a deeper method is
suggested ; but the question is left at last without an answer.
In others, as in the Hippias Major, Protagoras, Gorgias,
and Huthydemus, various aspects of the Sophistical point of
view are exposed; (on which we shall find much material for
discussion hereafter); in all the dialogues a glimpse, at all
events, of true philosophy is suggested; in a few only, as in
{the Philebus, is there anything like a proportion of con-
structive to the destructive dialectic.

Plato’s wonderful dramatic pictures hold up a mirror to
the different phases of error and truth in the human mind,
so that we turn to his dialogues as to real life. But all
reasonings on morality must exhibit the distinction existing
between the popular, the sophistic, and the philosophical
points of view. This distinction will be found marked in the
Ethics of Aristotle, only Aristotle is less hostile than Plato to
the popular conceptions, and rather considers them as the

48 ESSAY II.

exponents of a true instinct with which his own theories must
be brought into harmony. Also, being more concerned with
the attainment and enunciation of truth than with recording
its genesis, he does not dwell on the relation of the sophistical
spirit to morality. He touches on certain sceptical and arbi-
trary opinions concerning morals which may be considered as
the remnants of sophistry. But we must not reckon among
these philosophical opinions with which he disagrees, since
philosophy may be mistaken and yet be philosophy, if its
spirit be pure.

Without laying too much stress on our three divisions, we
may at all events regard them as convenient chronological
heads. And let us now proceed to make some remarks on
the characteristics of the first period of Grecian Ethics.

I. It has been said that ‘before Socrates there was no
morality in Greece, but only propriety of conduct.’! This
sentence conveys the same meaning as the argument in
Plato’s Pheedo (p. 68 D), that “ without philosophy there is no
morality, for the popular courage is a sort of fear, and the
popular temperance a sort of intemperance.’ It rightly
asserts that the highest kind of goodness is inseparable from
wisdom, from a distinct consciousness of the meaning of acts—
from a sense of the absoluteness of right in itself. * Morality’
according to this view only exists when the individual can
say, “1 ama law to myself, the edicts of the state and of
society are valid to me because they are my edicts—because
they are pronounced by the voice of reason and of right that
is in me.’ It however puts perhaps too great a restriction

upon the term ‘ morality,’ as if nothing but the highest moral

goodness were ‘ morality’ at all. It seems absurd to charac- -

' Hegel, Geschichte der Philosophie, | waren sittliche, nicht moralische Men-
ii. 43: ‘Die Athener vor Socrates | schen.’

THE FIRST ERA OF MORALITY. 49

terize as mere ‘ propriety of conduct’ the acts of generosity,
patriotism, endurance, and devotion, which were done, and the
blameless lives that were led, long before there was any
philosophy of right and wrong. Indeed there is something
that seems more attractive about instinctive acts of noble-
ness, than about a reasoned goodness. To some the innocent
obedience of the child appears more lovely than the virtue
of the man. Still instinct is inferior to reason, the child is
less than the man; and if God makes us what we are in
childhood, we must re-make ourselves in maturer age; and
it is the law of our nature that what was at first only
potential in us, and only dimly felt as an instinct, should
become realized by us and present to our consciousness. The
very word ‘conscience,’ on which right so much depends, is
only another term to express ‘ consciousness, and a man
differs from a machine in this, that the one has a law in.
itself,—is moved, as Aristotle would say, κατὰ λόγον ; the
other is moved μετὰ λόγου, has the law both in and for
himself.

Without entering into speculations on the origin of society,
we may safely assert that, as far as historical evidence goes,
the broad distinctions between crime and virtue seem always
to have been marked. National temperament, organization,
climate, and a certain latent national idea that has to be
gradually developed—these go some way to mould the
general human instincts of right and wrong, and these pro-
duce whatever is special in the national life and customs and
code of laws (for occasion calls forth legislation, and so a code
of laws grows up); and thus men live and do well or ill, and
obtain praise or blame, are. punished and rewarded. But as
yet there is no rationale of all this. It is an age of action
rather than of reflection—of poetry rather than analysis. To
this succeeds a time when the first generalizations about life,

E

50 ESSAY II.

in the shape of proverbs and maxims, begin to spring up.
These are wise, but they do not constitute philosophy. They
seldom rise above the level of prudential considerations, or
empirical remarks on life, but they serve the requirements
of those for whom they are made. Later, however, poetry
and proverbs cease to satisfy the minds of thinkers; the
thoroughly-awakened intellect now calls in question the old
saws and maxims, the authority of the poets, and even the
validity of the institutions of society itself. After this has
come to pass, the age of unconscious morality, for cultivated
men at least, has ceased for ever. In the quickly ripening
mind of Greece, the different stages of the progress we have
described succeed each other in distinct and rapid succession.
In Christendom, from a variety of causes, it was impossible
that the phenomenon should be re-enacted with the same
simplicity.

The popular morality which is represented in the dialogues
of Plato may serve to embody the results which were arrived
at in Greece without scepticism and without philosophy. The
following are its chief characteristics: (1) It is based upon
texts and maxims, and these maxims are for the most part
merely prudential. (2) It is apt to connect itself with a
superstitious and unworthy idea of religion, such as was set
forth in the mysteries, and which constituted the trade of
juggling hierophants. With regard to the former point,
nothing is more marked than the unbounded reverence of
the Greeks for the old national literature. Homer, Hesiod,
and the Gnomie poets, constituted the educational course.
Add to these the saws of the Seven Wise Men and a set of
aphorisms of the same calibre, which sprung up in the sixth
century, and we have before us the main sources of Greek
views of life. It was perhaps in the age of the Pisistratidee
that the formation and promulgation of this system of texts

THE MORALITY OF HOMER. 61

took place most actively. In the little dialogue called Hip-
parchus, attributed to Plato, but of uncertain authorship,
we find an episode (from which the dialogue is named) re-
counting a fact, if not literally, at all events symbolically true.
It relates that Hipparchus, the wisest of the sons of Pisis-
tratus, wishing to educate the citizens, introduced the poems
of Homer, and made Rhapsodes recite them at the Pana-
thenza. Also, that he kept Simonides near him, and sent to
fetch Anacreon of Teos. Also, that he set up obelisks along
the streets and the roads, carved with sentences of wisdom,
selected from various sources, or invented by himself, some
of which even rivalled the ‘ Know thyself,’ and other famous
inscriptions at Delphi.

It is obvious how much the various influences here specified
worked on the Athenian mind. The mouths of the people
were full of these maxims, and when Socrates asked for the ~
definition of any moral term, he was answered by a quotation
from Simonides, Hesiod, or Homer. The same tendency was
not confined to Athens, but was doubtless, with modifications,
prevalent throughout Greece. With regard to the worth of
the authorities above specified, a few words may be said,
taking each separately. The morality in Homer is what you
would expect. It is concrete, not abstract; it expresses the
conception of a heroic life rather than a philosophical theory.
It is mixed up with a religion which really consists in a cele-
bration of the beauty of the world, and in a deification of the
strong, bright, and brilliant qualities of human nature. It
is a morality uninfluenced by a regard to a future life. It
clings with intense enjoyment and love to the present world,
and the state after death looms in the distance as a cold and
repugnant shadow. And yet it would often hold death pre-,
ferable to disgrace. The distinction between a noble and an.
ignoble nature is strongly marked in Homer, and yet the

E2

52 ESSAY IIL.

sense of right and wrong about particular actions seems very

fluctuating. A sensuous conception of happiness and the

chief good is often apparent, and there is great indistinctness

about all psychological terms and conceptions. Life and

mind, breath and soul, thought and sensation, seem blended

or confused together. Plato’s opinion of Homer was a re-

action against the popular enthusiasm, and we must take

Plato’s expressions not as an absolute verdict, but as relative

to the unthinking reverence of his countrymen. He speaks

as if irritated at the wide influence exercised by a book in

which there was so little philosophy.

᾿ If we consider Homer in his true light, as the product and

exponent, rather than as the producer of the national modes

of thought, Plato’s criticisms will then appear merely as

directed against the earliest and most instinctive conceptions |
of morality, as a protest against perpetuating these and
treating them as if they were adequate for a more advanced
age. Socrates says (Repub. p. 606 E), ‘You will find the

praisers of Homer maintaining that this poet has educated all

Greece, and that with a view to the direction and cultivation

of human nature he is worthy to be taken up and learnt by

heart; that in short one should frame one’s whole life ac-

cording to this poet. To these gentlemen,’ continues So-
crates, “ you should pay all respect, and concede to them that

Homer was a great poet and first of the tragic writers

᾿ (ποιητικώτατον εἶναι καὶ πρῶτον τῶν τρωγῳδοποιῶν) ; but you

should hold to the conviction that poetry is only to be ad-

mitted into a state in the shape of hymns to the Gods and

encomia on the good.’ The point of view from which this is
said is evidently that, in comparison with the vast importance

of a philosophic morality, everything else is to be considered

of little value and to be set aside. The faults that Plato

finds with Homer in detail are, that he recommends justice

THE MORALITY OF HOMER. 53

by the inducements of temporal rewards (Repub. pp. 363 A,
612 B), thus turning morality into prudence; that he makes
God the source of evil as well as of good (Repub. p. 379 C);
that he makes God changeable (p. 381 D); that he represents
the gods as capable of being bribed with offerings (p. 364 D);
that he gives a gloomy picture of the soul after death,
describing the future world in a way which is calculated
to depress the mind and fill it with unmanly forebodings
(p. 387); that he represents his heroes as yielding to ex-
cessive and ungoverned emotion, and that even his gods give
way to immoderate laughter (pp. 388-9); and that instances
of intemperance, both in language, and in the indulgence of
the appetites, often form a part of his narrative (p. 390). In
the Ethics of Aristotle the poems of Homer are frequently
referred to for the sake of illustration as being a perfectly
well known literature. Thus the warning of Calypso—or, ©
as it should have been, Circe (Zth. 11. ix. 3); the dangerous
_ charms of Helen (11. ix. 6); and the procedure of the Homeric
Kings (111. iii. 18); are used as figures to illustrate moral
‘or psychological truths. Again, instances of any particular
phenomenon are hence cited; as for example, Diomede and
Hector are cited as an instance of political courage (11. viii.
2), and Glaucus and Diomede of an unequal bargain where
no wrong is done (v. ix. 7). In other places Aristotle appeals
to the words of Homer, in the same way that he does to the
popular language, namely, as containing a latent philosophy
in itself, and as bearing witness to the conclusions of philo-
sophy. Thus Homer’s use of the word σοφὸς (VI. vii. 2);
his calling Agamemnon ‘shepherd of the people’ (vit. xi. 1) ;
his mention of the superhuman qualities of Hector (vu. i. 1);
his description of the girdle of Venus (vu. vi. 3); and his
physical descriptions of courage (111. viii. 10), are all appealed
to as containing, or testifying to, a philosophical truth.

54 ESSAY II.

Turning from Homer to Hesiod, we discover at once a
certain change or difference in spirit, and in the views that
In the Works and Days those that
fought at Troy are represented as ‘a race of demi-gods and
beatified heroes,’ dwelling in the ‘ happy isles’ free from care

are taken of human life.

or sorrow ; whereas with Homer, these personages are merely
illustrious mortals, subject to the same passions and suffer-
ings as their descendants, and condemned at their death to
the same dismal after life of Hades, so gloomily depicted in
the Odyssey.2 Not only does this difference point to a de-
velopment in the Grecian mythology, indicating the matured |
growth of the popular hero-worship; it also shows a feeling
which characterizes other parts of Hesiod, a sense that a
bright period is lost, and ‘that there had passed away a glory
from the earth.’

The poet is no longer carried out of himself in thinking of
the deeds of Achilles and Hector. He laments that he has
fallen on evil days, that he lives in the last and worst of
the Five Ages of the World.* He finds ‘all things full of
labour.’ He is conscious of a Fall of Man, and accounts for
this by two inconsistent episodes, the one‘ representing man-
kind, through the fatal gift of Pandora, blighted at the very
outset ; the other® describing a gradual decadence from the
Once the gods dwelt upon earth, but
now even Honour that does no wrong, and Retribution that
suffers no wrong (Αἰδὼς καὶ Néuweous), the last of the Im-

primeval Golden Age.

2 Mure’s Literature ‘of wither. Vol. | viv yap δὴ γένος ἐστι σιδήρεον: oddé

II. p. 402.
8 V. 172 8qq-

μηκέτ᾽ ἔπειτ᾽ ὥφειλον eyo πέμπτοισι
μετεῖναι

ἀνδράσιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἢ πρόσθε. θανεῖν, ἢ

ἔπειτα γενέσθαι

ποτ᾽ ἣμαρ
παύσονται καμάτου καὶ ὀϊζύος, οὐδέ τι

νύκτωρ E
φθειρόμενοι: χαλεπὰς δὲ θεοὶ δώσουσι

μερίμνας.

4 Vv. 48-105.

5 Vv. 108-171.

THE MORALITY OF HESIOD. 55

mortals, have gone and left us.° Mixed up with this sad and
gloomy view of the state of the world, we find indications of
a religious belief which is in some respects more elevated
than the theology of Homer. Hesiod represents the mes-
sengers of Zeus, thirty thousand demons, as always pervading
the earth, and watching on deeds of justice and injustice.’
A belief in the moral government of God is here indicated,
though it is expressed in a polytheistic manner, and there is
a want of confidence and trust in the divine benevolence.
The gods are only just, and not benign. Hesiod’s book of
the Works and Days is apparently a cento, containing the
elements of at least two separate poems, the one an address
to the poet’s brother Perses, with an appeal against his in-
justice; the other perhaps by a different hand, containing
maxims of agriculture, and an account of the operations at
different seasons. Into this part different sententious rules —
of conduct are interwoven, which may be rather national and
Beeotian than belonging to any one particular author. The
morality of Hesiod, whatever its origin, contains a fine prac-
tical view of life. It enjoins justice, energy, and above all,
temperance and simplicity of living. Nothing can be finer
than the saying® quoted by Plato (cf. Repub. p. 466 C; Laws,
p- 690 E), ‘ How much is the half greater than the whole! how}
great a blessing is there in mallows and asphodelus!’ Plato
finds fault with Hesiod that his is a merely prudential Ethics, |
or eudemonism, that he recommends justice by the promise

® Vy. 195-199. hépa ἑσσάμενοι, πάντη φοιτῶντες ἐπ᾽
7 V. 250 sq. alay.

τρὶς γὰρ μύριοι εἰσὶν ἐπὶ χθονὶ πουλυ- 8 V. 40 sq.
Borelpn νήπιοι, οὐδὲ ἴσασιν ὅσῳ πλέον ἥμισυ

ἀθάνατοι Ζηνὺς, φύλακες θνητῶν ἀνθρώ-
πων"

οἵ pa φυλάσσουσίν τε δίκας καὶ σχέτλια
ἔργα :

παντός, .
οὐδ᾽ ὅσον ἐν μαλάχῃ τε καὶ ἄσφοδέλῳ
hey ὄνειαρ.

56 ESSAY II.

of temporal advantage (Repwb. p. 363 A). Many of his maxims
are indeed not above the level of a yeoman’s morality, con-
sisting in advice about the treatment of neighbours, servants,
&e. One of these Aristotle alludes to (Hth, 1x. i. 6). It is
the recommendation that, even between friends, wages should
be stipulated and the bargain kept. Of a different stamp,
however, is that passage of Hesiod, which has been so re-
peatedly quoted.® It contains the same figure to represent
virtue and vice, which was afterwards consecrated in the
mouth of Christ: ‘The road to vice may easily be travelled
by crowds, for it is smooth, and she dwells close at hand.
But the path of virtue is steep and difficult, and the gods
have ordained that only by toil can she be reached.’ And
this truth is rendered still deeper by the addition, that ‘ He
is best who acts on his own convictions, while he is second-
best who acts in obedience to the counsel of others,’ Ari-
stotle cites this latter saying (Hth. 1. iv. 7), which contains
more than, in all probability, its author was conscious of.
He also quotes from Hesiod another most acute remark,!?
which is to the effect that society is constructed upon a basis
of competition, —that a principle of strife which makes
‘ potter foe to potter’ (Hth. vir. i.6), produces all honourable
enterprises. It may truly be said that if Hesiod was no
moral philosopher, he was a very great moralist.

Passing on now to the ‘Seven Wise Men,’ the heroes of
the sixth century B.c., who are separated from Hesiod by we
cannot tell how wide a chronological interval, we do not find

5 Xen. Memorab. τι. i. 20.. Plato, | εἰσὶ δύω. τὴν μέν κεν ἐπαινήσειε voh-
Repub. p. 364 Ὁ. Laws, p. 718 E. Pro- σας,

tagoras, p. 340 D, &e. ἡ δ᾽ ἐπιμωμητή, κιτ.λ.

10 V. 11 8qq. «++. ἀγαθὴ δ᾽ ἔρις ἥδε Bpo-
οὐκ ἄρα μοῦνον ἔην ἐρίδων γένος, ἀλλ᾽ τοῖσι :

ἐπὶ γαῖαν καὶ κεραμεὺς κεραμεῖ κοτέει, καὶ τέκτονι

τέκτων.

THE SEVEN WISE MEN. 57

any great advance made beyond him in their moral point of
view, but rather a following out of the same direction. We
find still a prudential Ethics dealing in a disjointed, but often
a forcible and pregnant manner, with the various parts of
life. Of the ‘Seven,’ it was well said by Diczearchus (ap.
Diog. Laert. 1. 40) that ‘they were neither speculators nor
philosophers (οὔτε σοφοὺς οὔτε φιλοσόφους, N.B. σοφοὺς is
here used in a restricted and Aristotelian sense), but men of
insight, with a turn for legislation (συνετοὺς δέ twas καὶ
νομοθετικούς). They belonged to an era of political change,
which was calculated to teach experience and to call forth
worldly wisdom, the era of the overthrow of hereditary
monarchs in Greece. All the sages were either tyrants, or
legislators, or the advisers of those in power. The number
seven is of later date, and probably a mere attempt at com-
pleteness. There is no agreement as to the list, but the’
names most generally specified are Thales, Solon, Periander,
Cleobulus, Chilon, Bias, Pittacus. Of these Thales ought to
be exempted from the criticism of Diczarchus, for though
many adages are attributed to him, he was no mere politician,
but a deep thinker, and the first speculative philosopher of
Greece. ΑἹ] that was most distinctive in Thales does not
belong to the level of thought which we are now considering.
Of the rest it was said by Anaximenes (ap. Diog. Laert. l. ¢.),
that they ‘all tried their hand at poetry.’ This is charac-
teristic of a period antecedent to the formation of anything
like a prose style. Of the poems of Solon, considerable pas-
sages are preserved to us; they consist of elegies, in which
the political circumstances of Solon’s lifetime are recorded,
and into which sufficient general reflections on human nature
are interwoven to entitle him to be called a Gnomic poet.
Solon’s views of life, as far as they appear in his poetry, are
characterized by a manliness which contrasts them with the

58 ESSAY II.

soft Lydian effeminacy of Mimnermus, to one of whose sen-
timents Solon made answer. Mimnermus having expressed
a wish for a painless life and a death at the age of sixty,
Solon answers: ‘Bear me no ill will for having thought on
this subject better than you—alter the words and sing, May
the fate of death reach me in my eightieth year.’ In one
passage of his works Solon divides human life into periods of
seven years, and assigns to each its proper physical and
mental occupations (Frag. 14); in another the multifarious
pursuits of men are described, and their inability to com-
mand success, because fate brings good and ill to mortals,
and man cannot escape from the destiny allotted to him by
the gods (Fr. 5). Let us now compare these two last senti-
ments with that saying which is always connected with the
name of Solon, and which was thought worthy of a careful
examination by Aristotle (Zth. 1. x.-xi.), the saying, that
‘One must look to the end,’ or that ‘ No one can be called
happy while he lives.” The story of Solon’s conversation
with Croesus, as given by Herodotus, is in all probability
totally without historical foundation. It has the aspect of a
rhetorical ἐπίδειξις dressed up by some Sophist to illustrate
the gnome of Solon. However, the beauty of the story as
related by Herodotus, no one can deny. The gnome itself in
its present form has this merit, that it is perhaps the first
attempt to regard life as a whole. It denies the name of
happiness to the pleasure or prosperity of a moment. But
its fault is, as Aristotle points out, that it. makes happiness
purely to consist in external fortune, it implies too little faith
in, and too little regard for, the internal consciousness, which
after all is far the most essential element of happiness,
Moreover, there is a sort of superstition manifested in this
view, and in the above-quoted verses of Solon. It represents
the Deity as ‘envious’ of human happiness. This view is

THE SEVEN WISE MEN. 59

elsewhere reprobated by Aristotle (Metaphys. τ. ii. 13); it
was a view, perhaps, natural in a period of political change
and personal vicissitude, previous to the development of
any philosophy which could read the permanent behind the
changeable.

The remainder of the ‘Seven’ hardly need a mention in
detail. The sayings attributed to them are too little con-
nected to merit a criticism from a scientific point of view.
‘The uncertainty of human things, the brevity of life, the
unhappiness of the poor, the blessing of friendship, the
sanctity of an oath, the force of necessity, the power of time,
such are the most ordinary subjects of their gnomes, when they
do not reduce themselves to the simple rules of prudence.’ "!
However, some of the utterances of this era of proverbial
philosophy stand conspicuous among the rest, containing “a

depth of meaning of which their authors could have been

only half conscious. This meaning was drawn out and de-
veloped by later philosophers. The Μηδὲν ἄγαν of Solon,
and the Μέτρον ἄριστον of Cleobulus passed almost into some-
thing new in the μετριότης of Plato, and the Γνῶθι σεαυτὸν
(of uncertain authorship), which was inscribed on the front
of the temple at Delphi, became in the hands of Socrates in
a measure the foundation of philosophy. In the Ethics of
Aristotle, proverbs of this epoch are occasionally quoted,
though not always connected with the name of any individual
sage. Thus the saying, that ‘ Office shows the man’ (Eth. v.
i. 16), is attributed to Bias; but the adage πολλὰς δὴ φιλίας
ἀπροσηγορία διέλυσεν (Vil. v. 1), and other proverbial verses,
such as ἐσθλοὶ μὲν yap ἁπλῶς x.7.r. (II. vi. 14), and κάλλε-
στον τὸ δικαιότατον x.T.r. (I. viii. 14), which belong to the
τ gnomic period, are cited without a name.

" Renouvier, Manuel de Phil. Anc. 1. p. 127.

60 ESSAY II.

Two more poets may be mentioned who will serve to com-
plete our specimens of the sixth century thought on moral
subjects. These are Theognis and Simonides. They both
were great authorities, as is evinced by their being so fre-
quently cited in the writings of the ancients. They both
have this in common that their verse betrays a constant re-
flectiveness on human life. But the tone is to some extent
different. Theognis draws a darker picture than Simonides.
Theognis exhibits traces of a harassed and unfortunate life,
and the pressure of circumstances. Simonides, who lived
through the Persian wars, writes in a more manly strain, as
if inspired by the times and the glorious deeds of his country-
men, which he celebrated in his poetry. Theognis appears
to have lived during the latter half of the sixth century. His
Writings are chiefly autobiographical, and consist of reflections -
caused by the political events of his life and of his native
city Megara. He seems to have belonged to the aristocratic
party and to have suffered exile, losing all his property and
barely escaping with his life. His feelings of indignation
are constantly expressed in his poems—in which perhaps the
greatest peculiarity is, that in them the terms ἀγαθοί and
ἐσθλοί are used to designate his own party, the nobles, while
the commons are called κακοί and δειλοί. It must not be
supposed that these terms had hitherto no ethical meaning,
though of course scientific ethical definitions had as yet never
been attempted. But the words ἐσθλός and κακός occur in
Hesiod in quite as distinctive a sense, as the terms ‘ good
man,’ and ‘bad man,’ are used in general now. It is the
extreme of political partizanship expressing itself in a naive
and unconscious manner which causes Theognis to identify
goodness with the aristocratic classes, and badness with the
commonalty of his city. We can find a strange intermixture
and confusion in his writings of political and ethical thoughts.

THEOGNIS OF MEGARA. 61

In the celebrated passage which dwells on the influence of
associates, he begins by saying ‘ You should eat and drink
with those who have great power’ (7. 6. the nobles), “ for from
the good you will learn what is good, but by mixing with the
bad you will lose what reason you have.’ Here an undeniable
moral axiom is made to assume a political aspect, which in-
deed impairs its force. Plato, in the Meno,!? quotes this
passage and shows that it is contradicted by another passage
of Theognis, which declares education to be of no effect.
Theognis appears to have felt at different times with equal
force the two points of view about education. At one time
education appears to be everything, at another time, nothing.

All the expressions of Theognis, as indeed of the other
Gnomie poets, seem characterized by perfect naturalness, if
such a word might be used. They contain no attempt to
reduce life to a theory; they flow from the heart of the indi- °
They exhibit no
striving to be above circumstances,—-rather the full, unre-

vidual according as he feels joy or sorrow.

strained wail of one who bitterly feels the might of circum-
stances. They do not seek to be logical; on the contrary,

12 Οἶσθα δὲ ὅτι ov μόνον σοί τε καὶ
τοῖς ἄλλοις τοῖς πολιτικοῖς τοῦτο δοκεῖ
τοτὲ μὲν εἶναι διδακτόν, τοτὲ δ᾽ οὔ,
ἀλλὰ καὶ Θέογνιν τὸν ποιητὴν οἷσθ᾽ ὅτι
ταὐτὸ ταῦτα λέγει; M. Ἔν ποίοις ἔπε-
σιν; Σ. Ἔν τοῖς ἐλεγείοις, οὗ λέγει
καὶ παρὰ τοῖσιν πῖνε καὶ ἔσθιε καὶ μετὰ

τοῖσιν

ἴζε καὶ ἅνδανε τοῖς ὧν μεγάλη δύνα-

μιξ.
ἐσθλῶν μὲν γὰρ ἄπ᾽ ἐσθλὰ διδάξεαι, ἣν
δὲ κακοῖσιν

συμμίσγῃς, ἀπολεῖς καὶ τὸν ἐόντα

νόον.

οἷσθ᾽ ὅτι ἐν τούτοις μὲν ὡς διδακτοῦ
οὔσης τῆς ἀρετῆς λέγει; Μ. Φαίνεταί
ye. Σ. Ἔν ἄλλοις δέ γε ὀλίγον μετα-

Bas, εἰ δ᾽ ἦν ποιητόν, φησί, καὶ ἔνθετον
ἀνδρὶ νόημα λέγει πως ὅτι
πολλοὺς ἂν μισθοὺς καὶ μεγάλους
ἔφερον
οἱ δυνάμενοι τοῦτο ποιεῖν καὶ
οὔ ποτ᾽ ἂν ἐξ ἀγαθοῦ πατρὸς ἔγεντο
κακός,
πειθόμενος μύθοισι σαόφροσιν, ἀλλὰ δι-
δάσκων
of ποτε ποιήσεις τὸν κακὸν ἄνδρ᾽
ἀγαθόν.
ἐννοεῖς ὅτι αὐτὸς αὑτῷ πάλιν περὶ τῶν
αὐτῶν τἀναντία λέγει; 95 C sqq.
Both of these passages of Theognis
are alluded to by Aristotle in the
Ethics (1x. ix. 7, x. ix. 3).

62 ESSAY II.

they are full of inconsistencies. In one place Theognis says
(173-182), ‘if one is poor it is better to die than live; one
should cast oneself from some high cliff into the sea.’ In
another place (315-318), ‘ Many of the bad are rich, and
the good poor, yet one would not exchange one’s virtue for
riches.’ In the views of Theognis, as we saw before in those
of Solon, there may be traced a superstitious feeling of the
resistless power, and at the same time the arbitrary will of
the gods. As to the standard of duty in his poems, such a
conception must needs be held to have been very wavering
in him who could write (363 sq.), ‘ Flatter your enemy, and
when you have got him into your power, wreak your ven-
geance, and do not spare him.’ It is obvious that the elegiac
form adopted by Theognis gave an air of universality to
maxims which were only suitable to his own troubled times,
and his own angry spirit. To accept the cynicism and the
complaints of Byron as if of universal applicability, would
be almost a parallel to what actually took place in Greece,
when the verses of Theognis were quoted as an authority in
morals. That this could ever have been the case, shows how
great was the want of a more fixed standard, and almost
justifies the sweeping attacks made by Plato upon the poets,

In the verses of Simonides of Ceos there is, as we have
said, a more healthy spirit. His life (8.0. 556-467) was
prosperous, and was spent at different courts, especially those
of Hipparchus at Athens, of the Aleuads and Scopads in
Thessaly, of Hiero at Syracuse. Τῇ Theognis be compared to
Byron among the moderns, Simonides may, in some respects,
be compared to Goethe, though Goethe exhibits no parallel
to his spirited and even impassioned songs on the heroic in-
cidents of the war. But the courtly demeanour of Simonides,
to which he seems to have somewhat sacrificed his inde-
pendence, his worldly wisdom, his moderation of views, his

SIMONIDES OF CEOS. 63

realistic tendencies with regard to life, and his efforts for a
calm and unruffled enjoyment, remind one a little of the
great German. Beyond heroism in war, Simonides does not
appear to have held any exalted notions of the possibilities of
virtue. There is a very interesting discussion in the Protagoras
of Plato (pp. 339-346), on the meaning of some strophes in
one of the Epinician odes of Simonides. This discussion has
the effect of exhibiting the critical ability of Socrates as
superior to that of Protagoras. The import of the passage
criticized appears to be, that, “ while absolute perfection (τε-
τράγωνον ἄνευ ψόγου γενέσθαι) is well-nigh impossible, yet
Simonides will not accept the saying of Pittacus, ‘it is hard
to be good,’—for misfortune makes a man bad and prosperity
good ; good is mixed with evil, and Simonides will be satisfied
if a man be not utterly evil and useless ;—he will give up
vain and impracticable hopes, and praise and love all who do
not voluntarily commit base actions.’ These expressions are
very characteristic of Simonides. We may remark in them
(1) the criticism upon Pittacus, which shows the advance of
reflective morality; (2) the point of view taken, namely, a
sort of worldly moderation. Simonides complains that Pittacus
has set up too high an ideal of virtue, and then proclaimed
the difficulty of attaining it. Simonides proposes to substitute
a more practical standard.

In thus discussing one of the gnomes of the Seven Sages,
Simonides approaches in some degree to the mode of thought
of the Sophists, but in later times he was taken as the re-
presentative of the old school, in contradistinction to ‘ young
Athens,’ with its sophistical ideas. Thus in the Clouds of
Aristophanes (1355-1362), Strepsiades calls for one of the
Scolia of Simonides, while his son treats them with con-
tempt. A sort of sententious wisdom appears to have been
aimed at by this courtly poet; a specimen of it is given in|

64 ESSAY II.

the Republic of Plato (p. 331 E), where justice is defined
according to Simonides, to consist in ‘ paying one’s debts.’
It is easy to show this definition inadequate, and yet it was a
beginning. The quickly developing mind of Greece could
not long remain in that stage to which Simonides had at-
tained ; it was imperatively necessary that it should break
away, and by force of questioning, obtain a more scientific
view. We might say of the aphoristic morality of the poets
and sages what Aristotle says of the early philosophers, —
namely, that ‘without being skilled boxers, they sometimes
give a good blow’ (Metaphysics, τ. iv. 4).

There was another element specified by Plato in his picture
of the popular morality of Greece, which we have hitherto
left unnoticed, namely, the tendency to accept unworthy
conceptions of religion, such as would essentially interfere
with the purity and absoluteness of any ideas of right and
wrong. Not only was there prevalent a belief in the envious-
ness and Nemesis of the Deity, such as forms the constant
theme of the reflections of Herodotus; not only was there a
superstitious hankering after signs and oracles, which tended
to disturb the manly calmness of the mind ; not only was
there a mean and anthropomorphic conception of God, which
reduced religion to hero-worship, and really stood quite beside,
and distinct from, all morality; but also there was a direct.
tampering with morality itself on the part of certain religious
hierophants. These were the professors of mysteries, re-
specting whom Adeimantus is made to say in the Republic of.
Plato (p. 364 B sq.), ‘ The most astonishing theories of all are
those which you shall hear about the gods and about virtue
—that the gods themselves have actually allotted to many
good men misfortunes and an evil life, and to the bad a
directly opposite lot. On the other hand, seers and jugglers
come to the doors of the rich, and persuade them that they

THE ORPHIC MYSTERIES. 65

have a power given them by the gods of expiating by offerings
and charms all offences, whether committed by a man’s self
or his ancestors, and this quite pleasantly—merely by holding
a feast; and if any one wants to be revenged on an enemy,
they will, for a trifling cost, do the fellow a harm (they say)
whether he be a good man or a bad man—by forcing the
gods with their incantations and spells to serve them. They
cite the poets as authorities for their assertions, to prove that
the path of vice is easy, and that of virtue rugged and difficult.
They prove from Homer that the gods are not inexorable,
but may be turned by the prayers and offerings of men. And
they adduce a whole swarm of the books of Muszeus and
Orpheus, the kinsmen (as they say) of Selene and of the
Muses, according to which they perform their rites, and per-
suade not only individuals, but whole states, that actually by
means of feastings and pleasure, expiations and releases may _
be provided both for the living and also for the dead, which
will free men from all the penalties of the future life; but
that for any one not using their rites a most horrible fate
remains.’

Of the Orphic mysteries here alluded to, and of the other
mysteries in general, it will not be necessary for our present
purpose to say much. They appear to have originally possessed
an oriental character, and to have been in themselves not
without a deep meaning. They were a protest against Grecian
anthropomorphism. They seem to have contained the asser-
tion of two deep ideas, the immortality of the soul, and the
impurity of sin, which required expiation. That they had
become debased before becoming popular, we learn from this
account of Plato. A perverted religion that offered ‘ masses
for the soul,’ and a preference to the rich over the poor,—
joined with the traditional, unreflecting, and prudential
morality that was rife in Greece—produced a state of feeling

F

66 ESSAY II.

that made Plato say in the person of Adeimantus—‘ The
only hope is, either if a person have a sort of inspiration of
natural goodness, or obtain a scientific apprehension of the
absolute difference between right and wrong.’ (πλὴν εἴ Tus
θείᾳ φύσει δυσχεραίνων τὸ ἀδικεῖν ἢ ἐπιστήμην λαβὼν ἀπέχεται
αὐτοῦ. Repub. p. 366 C.)

The relation of the EHthics of Aristotle to the popular
morality was, as we have said, rather different from that
of Plato. Aristotle considers the opinion of the many worth |
consideration, as well as that of the philosophers. He con-
stantly appeals to common language in support of his theories,
and common tenets he thinks worthy of either refutation or
establishment. There are certain points of view with regard
to morals, which are not exactly philosophical in Plato’s sense
of the word, but which have a sort of philosophical character,
while, at the same time, they were common property; and
these are made use of by Aristotle. Such are especially the
lists and divisions of good, which seem to have been much
discussed in Greece; as, for instance, the threefold division
into goods of the mind, the body, and external (Eth. τ. viii. 2);
again, the division into the admirable (τίμια) and the praise-
worthy (Hth. τ. xii. 1). One list of goods, not mentioned by
Aristotle, pretended to give them in their order of excellence,
thus,—wisdom, health, beauty, wealth. The conception of a
chief good seems to have been vaguely present before people’s
minds, and this no doubt determined primarily the form of
the question of Aristotle’s Hihics. This was the natural ques-
tion for a Greek system of Ethics; both Plato and Aristotle
tell us how wavering and inconsistent were the answers that
common minds were able to give to it, when in an utterly
unsystematic way it was presented to them (Repub. p. 505 B;
Ethics, τ. iv. 2).

Before taking leave of this period of unphilosophic morals,

——— oe

HERACLITUS AND DEMOCRITUS. 67

we must ask—How fared the philosophers in it ? The author
of the Magna Moralia, as we have seen, attributed to
Pythagoras certain mathematical formule for expressing
That the Pythagoreans adopted these
we know from other sources, but at how late a date it seems
difficult to say, '*—perhaps not before the time of Philolaus.
Of the other philosophers it may be said generally that ethical
subjects did not form part of their philosophy, they made no
attempt to systematize the phenomena of human society and
And yet they had deep thoughts on life and
stood apart from other men. This standing apart was indeed

ethical conceptions.

human action.
their characteristic attitude. Philosophic isolation was the!
chief result of their reflections upon the world. The same
thing, as M. Renouvier says, expresses itself in the symbolic
tears of Heraclitus and the symbolic laughter of Democritus,
—a doctrine of despair and of contempt. A deep feeling
pervades the utterances of Heraclitus, but it is a feeling of
the insignificance of man. ‘The wisest man,’ he says, ‘is to
Zeus, as an ape is to man.’ In the ceaseless eddy of the
creation and destruction of worlds, which he pictured to
himself, individual life must have seemed as the motes in
the sunbeam. He was called ὀχλολοίδορος, from his philo-

3 A quantity of spurious Pythago-
rean ents haye come down to us.
Patricius, in his Discussiones Peripa-
tetice (Vol. Il. Book VII.), quotes
these to prove that Aristotle plagia-
rized from the Pythagoreans. If the
fragments were genuine, they would
indeed prove wholesale plagiarism.
But they are plainly mere translations
of Aristotle into Doric Greek. The
following is attributed to Archytas.
οὐδὲν ἕτερόν ἐστιν εὐδαιμονία ἀλλ᾽ ἢ

χρᾶσις ἀρετᾶς ἐν εὐτυχίᾳ. Able as the

work of Patricius is, it labours under
the disadvantages of its era, criticism
having as yet hardly an existence.
As a specimen of his judgment—he
calls it ‘a lie’ on the part of Aristotle
to attribute the authorship of the
Ideas to Plato, since this doctrine had
been known before Plato, to the Py-
thagoreans, Orpheus, the Chaldeans,
and the Egyptians! His authorities
are such works as lamblichus, Psel-
lus, &e.

Ε 2

68 ESSAY II.

sophic exclusiveness. Democritus, though a pre-Socratic
philosopher, yet lived into and was influenced by the thought
of the Sophistic era. He seems to have considered the human
will as something apart in the world, and thus while subject-
ing the atoms to the power of necessity, he is reported to
have said, ‘ Man is only a half-slave of necessity.’ The chief
good he considered to be ᾿Αταραξία or an unruffled serenity
of mind. In a similar spirit Anaxagoras affirmed that ‘he
considered happiness something different from what most
men supposed, and that they would be astonished to hear his
conception of it’ (ef. Hth. x. viii. 11), meaning that it consisted
not in material advantages, but in wisdom and philosophy.
The moral doctrines of these early philosophers come before
us in general in the form of aphorisms, they seem to belong
rather to the personal character of the men than to the result
of their systems.

II. We pass now from the period of unconscious morality in
Greece, and enter upon the era of the Sophists. <A difficult
subject for discussion now presents itself. The question,
What was the character and position of the Sophists? is one
with regard to which it is hard to obtain the exact truth,
and lately it has been made matter of controversy whether we
are to trust the testimony of antiquity at all with regard to
the Sophists, whether we have not been all along entertaining
an illusion ; whether Plato’s portraits of them are not mere
caricatures prompted by a spirit of antagonism, whether
Aristotle’s allusions to them are not a mere reproduction of
the calumnies in Plato, whether, in short, the existence of
what we have been accustomed to call ‘Sophistry,’ or the
‘ Sophistical spirit,’ is not altogether a chimera as far as
regards those personages to whom the name σοφισταὶ was
first distinctively applied. To answer those doubts it will be
necessary to employ as much as possible an inductive method,

HISTORY OF THE WORD ‘SOPHIST.’ 69

and to bring together the exact words of ancient authorities
upon the subject.

In the term ‘ Sophist,’ we have to deal with a word of in-
definite, progressive, and variable signification. The original
vagueness of its meaning in the early writers, is mentioned
by Diogenes Laertius, 1. 12, who says the term used to be
applied to the poets. (Οἱ δὲ σοφοὶ καὶ σοφισταὶ ἐκαλοῦντο.
Καὶ οὐ μόνον, ἀλλὰ καὶ οἱ ποιηταὶ σοφισταί. Kaéa καὶ
Κρατῖνος ἐν ᾿Αρχιλόχῳ τοὺς περὶ Ὅμηρον καὶ Ἡσίοδον ἐπαινῶν
οὕτως καλεῖ.) It is plainly distinguished from σοφὸς in that
it implies ‘ one who by profession practises or exhibits some
kind of wisdom or cleverness.’ A’schylus (born 525 B.c.)
makes Hermes apply the term obviously with sarcasm to
Prometheus. Cf. P. V. 944 sqq. :—

σὲ τὸν σοφιστήν, τὸν πικρῶς ὑπέρπικρον,

τὸν ἐξαμαρτόντ᾽ ἐς θεούς, ἐφημέροις

πορόντα τιμάς, τὸν πυρὸς κλέπτην λέγω.
but the sneer consists in addressing Prometheus as ‘ you the
_eraftsman,’ ‘ the planner,’ ‘ the deviser,’ when in so helpless a
situation. In the same play, v. 62, it occurs without any
such irony—

ἵνα
μάθῃ σοφιστὴς ὧν Διὸς νωθέστερος.
‘duller in his art than Zeus.’ In one of the fragments of
ZEschylus σοφιστής is applied to Orpheus, denoting ‘musician,’
or “ master.’

Herodotus (born 484 B.C.) uses the word without any good
or bad intent to denote a man distinguished for wisdom or
philosophy; cf. 1. 29, ἀπικνέονται ἐς Σάρδις ἀκμαζούσας πλούτῳ
ἄλλοι τε οἱ πάντες ἐκ τῆς “Ἑλλάδος σοφισταί, οἱ τοῦτον τὸν
χρόνον ἐτύγχανον ἐόντες, ὧς ἕκαστος αὐτῶν ἀπικνέοιτο, καὶ δὴ
καὶ Σόλων ἀνὴρ ᾿Αθηναῖος. In this passage we see that there
is not the slightest allusion to the so-called ‘Sophists’ of the

|

70 ESSAY II.

time of Socrates ; of πάντες ἐκ τῆς “Ελλάδος σοφισταί implies
those who professed or were noted for any kind of intellectual
ability. The term would include literati and statesmen, just
as much as philosophers. In 11. 49, Herodotus speaks of οἱ
ἐπιγενόμενοι τούτῳ (Melampus), σοφισταί, meaning something
analogous to ‘the Theosophists who came after him.’ In
Iv. 95 he applies the term to Pythagoras, “EAAjvev οὐ τῷ
ἀσθενεστάτῳ σοφιστῇ Πυθωγόρῃ, where it simply means
‘ philosopher.’

Aristophanes, though born probity. about 449 8.0.» mit
his career as a writer so extremely early, that his play of the
Clouds was brought out in 423. In this play we have a most
important caricature of the Sophistic spirit as an innovating
and corrupting element in the education of youth. It will
be worth while to advert to this picture hereafter. At present,
as we are dealing only with the name ‘ Sophist,’ it is enough
to remark that this name is never in the Clouds applied to
the teachers of the thinking school (φροντιστήριον), which is
made the subject of ridicule. The word occurs three or four
times in the play. It appears in what might be called its
fifth century signification. It no longer has its old indeter-
minate meaning of ‘artist’ or ‘ philosopher,’ free from all
reproach implied; nor, again, has it reached the limited

| Platonic sense of “ paid instructor in rhetoric and philosophy.’

While it is still used to denote the ‘ professors’ of various
arts and sciences, an association of subtlety and over-refine-
ment, in fact what we now understand by ‘ sophistry,’ attaches
to it, cf. v. 331, where it is said that the clouds are the main-
tainers of many such idle and dreamy professors :} in τ, 361,
Socrates and Prodicus are spoken of as the chief amongst the

" οὐ γὰρ μὰ AP οἷσθ᾽ ὁτιὴ πλείστους θουριομάντεις,ἰατροτέχνας,σφραγιδονυχ-
αὗται βόσκουσι σοφιστάς, apyokounras.

HISTORY OF THE WORD “ SOPHIST.’ 71

crew of subtle speculators;!° in y. 1111 sq. we see expressed
the popular opinion of the Sophist, ὁ. 6., ἃ pale and attenuated
student ;'® and in vy. 1306 sq., the term is applied to Stre-
psiades in allusion to his cheating of his creditors.!”

Thucydides (born 471 B.c.) who wrote at the end of the
fifth century, though not much later in point of years than
Herodotus, is immensely advanced beyond him in point of
style and thought, and seems to belong in fact to a different
era. He uses the word σοφισταί in a sense nearer to that of
Plato, than Aristophanes had done, to denote those pro-
fessional orators who made displays of rhetoric (érdeiEes)
before a set audience.'®

Xenophon (born about 444 B.c.), though a disciple and
friend of Socrates, stood quite aloof from the transcendental
We cannot therefore attribute his
opinion of the Sophists to a mere copying of Plato’s descrip-.

philosophy of Plato.

tions, even if chronological considerations would allow this.
Xenophon’s point of view was totally distinct from Plato’s,
He rather represents the opinions*of an educated Athenian
of the day. The locus classicus in his writings with regard
to the Sophists occurs at the end (as far as it remains) of the
treatise on Hunting (Cynegeticus, c. xim.). After descanting
on the advantages of hunting as a moral training for youth,
he is led to speak of the spurious teaching of ‘the so-called
Sophists’ of his time. He says, ‘They pretend to teach

i

15 σύ re, λεπτοτάτων λήρων ἱερεῦ,
φράζε πρὸς ἡμᾶς ὅ τι xpi ers "
οὐ γὰρ ἂν ἄλλῳ γ᾽ ὑπακούσαιμεν τῶν
νῦν μετεωροσοφιστῶν Ὁ
πλὴν ἢ Προδίκῷ, τῷ μὲν σοφίας καὶ
γνώμης οὕνεκα, κιτ.λ. Ξ
16. ΑΔ, ἀμέλει, κομιεῖ τοῦτον σοφι-
στὴν δεξιόν.
ΦΕΙΔ. ὠχρὸν μὲν οὖν οἶμαί γε καὶ κα-
κοδαίμονα.

17 κοὺκ ἔσθ᾽ ὅπως οὐ τήμερον λήψε-
ταί τι
πρᾶγμ᾽ ὃ τοῦτον ποιήσει τὸν σοφιστὴν
ἀνθ᾽ ὧν πανουργεῖν ἤρξατ᾽ ἐξαίφνης
κακὸν λαβεῖν τι.

8 Cf mr. 38. ἁπλῶς τε ἀκοῆς ἡδονῇ
ἡσσώμενοι καὶ σοφιστῶν θεαταῖς ἐοικό-
τες καθημένοις μᾶλλον ἢ περὶ πόλεως
βουλευομένοις.

72 ESSAY II.

He has
never seen any one made a good man by the teaching of a
Sophist. He says, ‘Many beside me find fault with the
Sophists, and not with the philosophers, because the former
‘They seek only

virtue, but their teaching is a mere pretence,’!®

are subtle in words and not in thoughts.’ ”°
reputation and gain, and do not like the philosophers teach
with a disinterested spirit?! We see that in this passage
the word ‘ Sophist’ is used in that sense which it bears uni-
formly in Plato and Aristotle, namely, to denote a profes-
sional teacher, and we may also judge of the character of the
instructions given by a Sophist, namely, that they mainly
consisted in so-called ethical teaching (φασὶ μὲν ἐπ᾽ ἀρετὴν
ἄγειν) and in rhetoric (ἐν τοῖς ὀνόμασι copifovrar). Xenophon
testifies to their rapacious spirit, and to the general disrepute
in which the profession and the name of Sophist was held
(ψέγουσι δὲ καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοὶ ---ὅ ἐστιν ὄνειδος παρά γε τοῖς εὖ
φρονοῦσι). The charge that they ‘hunted after rich young
men,’ may have emanated from Socrates. It is repeated in
the half humorous definition of their character, given in
Plato’s Sophist.

In one passage of the Memorabilia Xenophon uses the
word σοφιστής apparently in a less determinate sense to
denote ‘ philosopher’ (cf. Mem. Iv. ii. 1, γράμματα πολλὰ

19 Θαυμάζω δὲ τῶν σοφιστῶν καλου-
μένων ὅτι φασὶ μὲν ἐπ᾽ ἀρετὴν ἄγειν οἱ
πολλοὶ τοὺς νέους, ἄγουσι δ᾽ ἐπὶ τοὐναν-
τίον" οὔτε γὰρ ἄνδρα που ἑωράκαμεν
ὅντιν᾽ οἱ νῦν σοφισταὶ ἀγαθὸν ἐποίησαν,
οὔτε γράμματα παρέχονται ἐξ ὧν χρὴ
ἀγαθοὺς γίγνεσθαι, ἀλλὰ περὶ μὲν τῶν
ματαίων πολλὰ αὐτοῖς γέγραπται ἀφ᾽
ὧν τοῖς νέοις αἱ μὲν ἡδοναὶ κεναί, ἀρετὴ
δ᾽ οὐκ ἔνι.

20 Ψέγουσι δὲ καὶ ἄλλοι πολλοὶ τοὺς
νῦν σοφιστὰς καὶ οὐ τοὺς φιλοσόφους,
ὅτι ἐν τοῖς ὀνόμασι σοφίζονται καί οὐκ

ἐν τοῖς νοήμασιν.

1 Οἱ σοφισταὶ δ᾽ ἐπὶ τῷ ἐξαπατᾷν
λέγουσι καὶ γράφουσιν ἐπὶ τῷ ἑαυτῶν
κέρδει καὶ οὐδένα οὐδὲν ὠφελοῦσιν " οὐδὲ
γὰρ σοφὸς αὐτῶν ἐγένετο οὐδεὶς οὐδ᾽
ἔστιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀρκεῖ ἑκάστῳ σοφιστὴν
κληθῆναι, ὅ ἐστιν ὄνειδος παρά γε τοῖς
εὖ φρονοῦσι. τὰ μὲν οὖν τῶν σοφιστῶν
παραγγέλματα παραινῷ φυλάττεσθαι,
τὰ δὲ τῶν φιλοσόφων ἐνθυμήματα μὴ
ἀτιμάζειν. οἱ μὲν γὰρ σοφισταὶ πλου-
σίους καὶ νέους θηρῶνται, οἱ δὲ φιλό-
copa πᾶσι κοινοὶ καὶ φίλοι.

HISTORY OF THE WORD ‘ SOPHIST.’ — 8

συνειλεγμένον ποιητῶν τε Kal σοφιστῶν τῶν εὐδοκιμωτάτων).
In Mem. τ. i. 11 (ὁ καλούμενος ὑπὸ τῶν σοφιστῶν κόσμοΞ),
there seems to be an allusion to the technical nomenclature
introduced or employed by the Sophists properly so called,
a. 6. the professional teachers.22, In Mem. τ. vi. 1, Xenophon
speaks of ᾿Αντιφῶντα τὸν σοφιστήν. It is uncertain whether
Antiphon of Rhamnus, the master of Thucydides, is here
meant. Whoever is the person alluded to, he is described as
making it a reproach to Socrates that he asked no pay for his
teachings, to which Socrates replies that the sale of wisdom
is a kind of prostitution, and that those who practise it are
stigmatized with the name of Sophists.2* We find then in
Xenophon that a definite sense (on the whole) is now
attached to the name Sophist, ὁ. 6. a professional teacher —
demanding pay for his instructions.

The next testimony we have to cite is that of Isocrates,.
who was born 436 B.c., and was thus seven years older than
Plato. He seems to have been to some extent the pupil of
Socrates, but he maintained himself afterwards by keeping a
school of rhetoric, which was attended by the most distin-
guished pupils. His direction was entirely practical, as is
evinced by frequent passages of his works, in which he ex-
presses contempt or dislike of the speculative spirit. On the
one hand he uses the term ‘ Sophist’ in its received meaning
of professional teacher, and on the other hand he is in the
habit of employing it loosely and vaguely to apply to literati
or philosophers in general. Isocrates was totally incapable of
appreciating the philosophic spirit, and from his point of

πες: 22 Of, Plato’s Meno, p. 85 Β. καλοῦσι 38 Thy σοφίαν ὡσαύτως τοὺς μὲν dp-
δέ γε ταύτην διάμετρον οἱ σοφισταί. | γυρίου τῷ βουλομένῳ πωλοῦντας, σο-
Cf. Protag. p. 315 C, ἐφαίνοντο δὲ περὶ φιστὰς ὥσπερ πόρνους ἀποκαλοῦσιν,
φύσεως τε καὶ τῶν μετεώρων ἀστρονο- | K.T.A. § 13.
μικὰ ἄττα διερωτᾷν τὸν Ἱππίαν.

74 ESSAY 11.

view, which regarded practical success as alone worth having,
he ignored altogether any distinction between the philo-
sopher and the Sophist. His aversion to speculation vents
itself in a confused and indiscriminate carping at the literary
profession and the philosophers. His oration κατὰ τῶν
Σοφιστῶν, which is fragmentary, contains an attack on ‘ those
who undertake to teach.’ He ridicules the magnitude of
their promises,—their imposture in offering to impart to
youths virtue and the art of attaining happiness; and the
absurdity of their demanding in return for these inestimable
advantages, the paltry sum of three or four mine. This
class of teachers he calls the disputants (oi περὶ τὰς ἔριδας
διατρίβοντες) ; from them he passes on to censure those that
offer to impart political discourses, being all the while them-
selves incompetent, and speaking as if such discourses had no
relation to particular occasions, but could, like the art of
writing, be acquired once for all. The reproaches he makes
use of are some of them identical with those to be found in
the dialogues of Plato, as, for instance, that the Sophists
cannot trust those very pupils to whom they are undertaking
to teach justice. He laughs at their affecting to despise
wealth, and says that their mean condition, and adherence to
mere verbal distinctions, has made many prefer to remain
unscientific, as despising such a kind of exercise.

What Isocrates upholds, however, in contrast to this is not
a deeper philosophy, but a more polished rhetoric, and he
names mental qualifications for it, which are precisely such as
Plato thought most undesirable. Ταῦτα δὲ πολλῆς ἐπιμελείας
δεῖσθαι καὶ ψυχῆς ἀνδρικῆς καὶ δοξαστικῆς ἔργον εἶναι. In
another passage (Philippus, ὃ 12), Isocrates uses the term
Sophist with what seems to be an undeniable allusion to
Plato’s Republic and Laws. Speaking of the futility of
abstract political speculations, he says, ἀλλ᾽ ὁμοίως of τοιοῦτοι

HISTORY OF THE WORD ‘ SOPIIIST.’ 78.

τῶν λόγων ἄκυροι τυγχάνουσιν ὄντες τοῖς νόμοις καὶ ταῖς πολι-
τείαις ταῖς ὑπὸ τῶν σοφιστῶν γεγραμμέναις. In his oration,
De Permutatione (§ 235), he says that Solon, through his
attention to rhetoric, ‘came to be called one of the Seven
Sophists, and took the appellation now dishonoured and cen-
sured by you,’ and in § 313, he affirms that Solon was the
first of the Athenians to be called a Sophist.*4 This last
statement is at variance with that of Plato, who makes Pro-
tagoras to have been the first who accepted the appellation
‘Sophist.’ The discrepancy depends on the ambiguity and
change of meaning in the term. Solon may have been the
first Athenian who was called Sophist, in the old sense of the
word, ὁ. 6. philosopher. Protagoras was the first who adopted
the name in its later sense, ὁ. 6. professional teacher of
philosophy.

Hitherto we have dealt with what might be called the
external side of the character of the Sophists. We have
seen the impression they produced upon cultivated men, who
were not troubled to estimate very deeply their tendencies,
viewed as a direction or ‘moment’ in philosophy. In
Aristophanes we have seen them broadly caricatured, and
Socrates mixed up with them as their representative. By
Thucydides they are alluded to as rhetoricians, exhibiting
their displays of art before an audience. Xenophon, as a
gentleman and a soldier, expresses contempt for a set of men,
whom he regards as impostors in teaching, while, on the
other hand, he respects the philosopher who is free from all
mercenary motives. Isocrates speaks of them partly with the
bitterness of a rival teacher, and one who has experienced

24 Οὔκουν ἐπί γε τῶν προγόνων οὕτως | τῶν πολιτῶν λαβόντα τὴν ἐπωνυμίαν
εἶχεν, ἀλλὰ τοὺς καλουμένους Σοφιστὰς | ταύτην προστάτην ἠξίωσαν τῆς πόλεως
ἐθαύμαζον καὶ τοὺς συνόντας αὐτοῖς | εἶναι,
ἐζήλουν. Σόλωνα μὲν γὰρ, τὸν πρῶτον

76 ESSAY II.

hostility®® from some of them, and partly he despises the
useless and unpractical character of their teaching, its empty
pretence, and idle verbal subtleties, Passing on now to
Plato, we shall first be able to gain much additional informa-
tion from him as to this same external side of the Grecian
Sophists; afterwards we shall learn from him to appreciate
the inner essence of that spirit which he calls ἡ σοφιστική,
and which may undoubtedly be looked upon as an actual
phase of human thought, by no means confined to the age of
Socrates.

It has been a common mistake to understand, under the
name of ‘the Sophist,’ certain particular individuals, Prota-
goras, Gorgias, Prodicus, Hippias, Polus, Thrasymachus, and
one or two others, who figure in the dialogues of Plato.
Enough has been said to show that in earlier writers the
name is never used to indicate a sect in philosophy, and it is
equally true that in Plato it is the name of a profession, not
of a sect; nor is it ever restricted by him to the above-
| mentioned individuals, who are merely eminent members of
\ what was indeed a very wide-spread profession. In the Meno,
Ῥ. 91 E, Socrates is made to speak as if Protagoras was not by

any means even the first of the Sophists, καὶ od μόνον TIpw-
Tayopas, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἄλλοι πάμπολλοι, οἱ μὲν πρότερον γεγονότες
ἐκείνου, οἱ δὲ καὶ νῦν ἔτι ὄντες. And by a still more remarkable
mode of speaking, in the Ethics of Aristotle 1x. i. ς--7, Pro-
tagoras appears to be in a sort of way contrasted with the
Sophists.** It is true that Plato represents Protagoras to

25 Cf. De Permutatione, ὃ 2, Ἐγὼ
γὰρ εἰδὼς ἐνίους τῶν σοφιστῶν βλασφη-
μοῦντας περὶ τῆς ἐμῆς διατριβῆς καὶ
λέγοντας ὥς ἐστι περὶ δικογραφίαν.

26 Ὃ γὰρ προϊέμενος ἔοικ᾽ ἐπιτρέπειν
ἐκείνῳ: “Ὅπερ φασὶ καὶ Πρωταγόραν
ποιεῖν" ὅτε γὰρ διδάξειεν ἁδήποτε, τι-
μῆσαι τὸν μαθόντα ἐκέλευεν ὅσου δοκεῖ

ἅξια ἐπίστασθαι, καὶ ἐλάμβανε τοσοῦ-
τον.---Οἱ δὲ προλαβόντες τὸ ἀργύριον,
εἶτα μηθὲν ποιοῦντες ὧν ἔφασαν, διὰ τὰς
ὑπερβολὰς τῶν ἐπαγγελιῶν, εἰκότως
ἐν ἐγκλήμασι γίνονται" οὐ γὰρ ἔπιτε-
λοῦσιν ἃ ὡμολόγησαν. Τοῦτο δ᾽ ἴσως
ποιεῖν οἱ σοφισταὶ ἀναγκάζονται διὰ τὸ
μηθένα ἂν δοῦναι ἀργύριον ὧν ἐπίστανται.

;
.
,

{
;

ἡ

|

}

GENERAL OPINION ABOUT THE SOPHISTS. 77

have been the first to assume openly the name of Sophist
(cf. Protag. p. 317), but he also gives a humorous picture in
the same dialogue, p. 314 D, of the crowds of Sophists flocking
to the house of Callias, so that the porter mistaking Socrates

and Hippocrates for members of the profession, would scarcely

| open the door to them.?” Within the house they find a con-
clave of persons, ‘ most of them foreigners whom Protagoras,
like another Orpheus, had drawn after him from their own
cities’-—amongst others, ‘ Antimcerus the Mendzan, the most
famous of the pupils of Protagoras, who was learning with
professional objects, meaning to be a Sophist’ (ἐπὶ τέχνῃ μαν-
θάνει, ὧς σοφιστὴς ἐσόμενος). Protagoras takes great merit
to himself for openly declaring his art, for he confesses ‘ that
a certain amount of envy attaches to it; that, going about
drawing away youths from their kindred and connexions
under the promise of making them better if they associated
with him—he was likely to be assailed with hostility ; old as
he is, however, no harm has evér come to him on account of
his candour.’ (pp. 316-317.)

It is interesting to trace in Plato the indications of general
opinion about the Sophists. In spite of their great success he
represents them to have been held in dislike and suspicion by
persons of honour, who at the same time made no pretensions to
philosophy. This feeling is instinctively expressed bythe young

_ | Hippocrates (Protag. p. 312 A), who being asked whether

he is going to Protagoras in order himself to become a Sophist,
confesses that he should consider this a great disgrace.?®> By
Callicles, in the Gorgias (p. 519 E), a sweeping contempt is

27 Ἔα, ἔφη, σοφισταί twes οὐ σχο- | ἂν αἰσχύναιο εἰς τοὺς “EAAnvas αὑτὸν
AH αὐτῷ.---᾿Αλλ᾽ ὦ ᾽γαθέ, ἔφην, οὔτε | σοφιστὴν παρέχων; Νὴ τὸν Δία, ὦ
παρὰ Καλλίαν ἥκομεν οὔτε σοφισταί | Σώκρατες, εἴπερ γε ἃ διανοοῦμαι χρὴ
ἐσμεν, ἀλλὰ θάῤῥει. λέγειν:

38 Σὺ δέ, ἣν δ᾽ ἐγώ, πρὸς θεῶν, οὐκ

78 ESSAY II.

expressed for ‘those who profess to teach virtue;’ Socrates .
asks, ‘Is it not absurd in them to find fault with the conduct
of those whom they have undertaken to make virtuous?’
Callicles replies, ‘Of course it is; but why should you speak
about a set of men who are absolutely worthless?’ Socrates
answers, ‘ Because I find the procedure of the Sophist and
\the Rhetorician identically the same.’ In the Meno the
question being, Is virtue teachable? Socrates argues that if
‘it be so, there must be teachers of it, and inquires of Anytus,
‘To whom shall we send Meno to learn virtue from ? Whether
to the Sophists?’ Anytus repudiates the idea, since ‘ these
corrupt all who come near them.’® Socrates, in reply to this,
urges, * How is it possible this should be true of the Sophists ;
—a cobbler who professed to mend shoes but made them
worse, would be found out in less than thirty days, how then
could Protagoras have remained undetected and maintained
so great a reputation and made so great a fortune, deceiving
the whole of Greece for more than forty years? Atall events,
must we not concede that if they do harm to others, they do
so unconsciously, and are like men insane?’ To this Anytus
answers, ‘That they are insane who give money to the
Sophists, and still more so the states who allow them to —
practise their art.’ Socrates says, ‘Some one of the Sophists
must have wronged you, Anytus, or you would not be so
bitter.’ Anytus says, ‘ No, I never had anything to do with

2 Ῥ οἱ B. σκόπει παρὰ τίνας ἂν
πέμποντες αὐτὸν ὀρθῶς πέμποιμεν. ἢ
δῆλον δὴ κατὰ τὸν ἄρτι λόγον, ὅτι παρὰ
τούτους τοὺς ὑπισχνουμένους ἄρετῇς
διδασκάλους εἶναι καὶ ἀποφήναντας αὖ-
τοὺς κοινοὺς τῶν Ἑλλήνων τῷ βουλο-
μένῳ μανθάνειν, μισθὸν τούτου ταξαμέ-
vous τε καὶ πραττομένου; ΑΝ. Καὶ
τίνας λέγεις τούτους, ὦ Σώκρατες ; SN.

Οἶσθα δήπου καὶ σὺ ὅτι οὗτοί εἶσιν
οἵους οἱ ἄνθρωποι καλοῦσι σοφιστάς.
ΑΝ. Ἡράκλεις, εὐφήμει, ὦ Σώκρατες.
μηδένα τῶν συγγενῶν, μήτε οἰκείων
μήτε φίλων, μήτε ἀστῶν μήτε ξένων,
τοιαύτη μανία λάβοι, ὥστε παρὰ τού-
Tous ἐλθόντα λωβηθῆναι, ἐπεὶ οὗτοί γε
φανερά ἐστι λώβη τε καὶ διαφθορὰ τῶν

συγγινομένων.

:

—

jen

GENERAL OPINION ABOUT THE SOPHISTS. 79

them.’ Socrates asks, ‘How then can you know what they
are like?’ Anytus says, ‘Oh, I know well enough what they
are like without having had anything to do with them.’
Socrates implies that Anytus is speaking not from knowledge
but prejudice. He dismisses the subject by adding, ‘after
all, there is perhaps something in what you say’ (καὶ ἴσως te
λέγεις, Meno, p. 92 D).

In this discussion it is observable that the abuse of the
Sophists is put into the mouth of Anytus, the accuser of
Socrates, who may be looked at as the representative of con-
servative feeling in Athens. Full justice is done in the
dialogue (Meno, p. go A) to the eminence of his position, his
wealth, and political influence. But afterwards, dramatically,
his arbitrary, narrow, and unfair turn of mind comes out.
Evidently we cannot say that in the Meno Plato calumniates
the Sophists, or vilifies them as opponents and rivals of
Socrates. Rather he makes it appear that there is something
hasty and inconsidered in the popular feeling against them
(which is a true, but blundering instinct), and that the philo-
sopher must consider their claims, their tendencies, and the
phenomena of their success from a deeper point of view.

- To a similar purport Socrates is made to speak in the
| Republic (p. 492 A), where he says to Adeimantus, ‘ Perhaps ©
you think with the multitude that youths are corrupted by
Sophists, and do not perceive that Society is itself the greatest
Sophist, educating and moulding young and old. What
Sophist or private instructor could withstand the powerful
voice of the world? Don’t you see that the so-called Sophists
do nothing else but follow public opinion? They teach nothing
else but the popular dogmas. They are like keepers of a wild
beast, who, when they have studied his moods and learned to
understand his noises, call this a system and a philosophy.’
The common accusation had been that the Sophists unsettled

80 ESSAY II.

young men’s opinions, and turned them away from the esta-
blished beliefs. Socrates implies, ‘I am willing to exonerate
them from this. Rather I have to complain that the Sophists
are too unsophisticated, that they are too much merely
echoes of the popular voice; that they have “plus que per-
sonne, Vesprit que tout le monde a.” ’

Viewed externally the Sophists presented the appearance
of a set of teachers, such as first appeared in Greece towards
the middle of the fifth century 8.0. (Protagoras was born
about 8.0. 480, and began to practise his art in his thirtieth
year, but there were others before him). They were for the
most part itinerant teachers, going from city to city. They
would make displays of their rhetoric (ἐπιδείξεις), and then
invite the youths of their audience to come and receive
instruction with a view to becoming able men in the state
(δεινοί, habiles hommes, &c.). Their instructions were
_ various, rhetoric and dialectic, ethics, music, and physical
science. Some, such as Hippias, professed a pantological
knowledge; others, as Gorgias, confined themselves to rhetoric,
Their profits no doubt varied with their success; some must
have been ill-paid and wretched, as represented by Aristo-
phanes and Isocrates. The leading members of the pro-
fession seem to have made large sums of money. On this
point, however, Isocrates is at direct issue with Plato.
Socrates says in the Meno, p. 91 D, that ‘he knew of Pro-
tagoras gaining greater wealth by his profession than Phidias
and ten other sculptors put together.’ And in the Hippias
Major (p. 282-283) Prodicus is said to have made immense
sums ;*° Hippias is made to boast that ‘when quite a young
man he made in Sicily, in a short space of time, more than
150 min (450/.), and that in one little village, Inycus, he

39 Τοῖς νεοις συνὼν χρήματα ἔλαβε θαυμαστὰ boa. Of. Xen. Symp. τ. 5, ΤΥ. 62.

MONEY-MAKING OF THE SOPHISTS. 81

made more than 20 mine’ (60l.). He adds, however, ‘that
he supposes he has made more than any two Sophists put
together.’ In contradiction to this picture, Isocrates gives a
much more limited account of the pecuniary success of the
Sophists. He says (De Permutatione, 155-156), ‘ Not one
of the so-called Sophists will be found to have amassed much
money. Some of them lived in small, others in very mode-
rate circumstances. Gorgias of Leontium made the most on
record. He lived in Thessaly, where people were very rich,
attained a great age, was long given up to his business, had
no settled habitation in any state, paid no taxes nor contri-
bution, had no wife nor children, and so was free from this
the most continual tax of all—and with these advantages
beyond others for acquiring a fortune, he only left behind him
at the last 1000 staters’ (125/.?). This oration was written
in the eighty-second year of Isocrates’ life, and probably ©
much later than the above-mentioned dialogues of Plato;
the fame of the achievements of the Sophists was therefore
less fresh. Isocrates, being himself a paid teacher, was
complaining of the difficulty of making enough, he was
therefore not likely to take a sanguine view of success in this
department ; also, it is credible that the Sophists did, as is
usually the case with persons whose gains are irregular, not
save much or leave much behind them. Hence we need not
find a great difficulty in the discrepancy of the two state-
ments. Plato represents popular rumours and external
surprise at the success of a new profession ; Isocrates, taking
the other side, goes into details and shows that in the long
run there was nothing so very wonderful effected, after all.
With regard to the reproach against the Sophists, that
their teaching for money at all was something discreditable—
an argument has been raised, that this is really no reproach,
as the practice of so many respectable men among the
G

82 ESSAY 11.

moderns may serve to testify. But we should endeavour to
put ourselves into the position of the ancients, and the fol-

‘lowing considerations may help us to do so. (1) The prac-

tice of the Sophists was an innovation, and jarred on men’s

feelings. There was something that to the natural prejudices

‘of the mind seemed more beautiful in the old simple times,

when wisdom, if imparted, was given as a gift. As soon as
the Sophists began their career, the fine and free spirit of the
old philosophers seemed gone. When Hippias boasts of his
gains, Socrates ironically replies, ‘ Dear me, how much wiser
men of the present day are than those of old time. You
seem to be just the reverse of Anaxagoras. For he is said to
have had a fortune left him and to have lost it all, such a
poor Sophist was he (οὕτως αὐτὸν ἀνόητα σοφίζεσθαι), and
other such stories are told of the ancients” (Hipp. Major,
p- 283 A.) (2) With the Sophists systematic education began
for the first time. Undoubtedly this was a necessity. But
it is equally true that about the administration of systematic
education there is something that appears at first sight
slavish and mechanical. The Greeks had not yet learned
those principles according to which a sense of duty will
dignify the meanest tasks. They tested things too exclu-
sively in reference to the standard of the fine and the noble
(καλόν). (3) But it was not simply the office of the paid.
schoolmaster that was disliked in the Sophist. We do not
find that the teachers of gymnastics or of harp-playing were
held in disrepute. Those who kept schools for boys were
looked down upon, it is true,*! but were not identified with
the Sophists. The latter taught not boys, but youths; again,
they taught not the necessary rudiments, but something more
pretentious—wisdom, philosophy, political skill, virtue, and

* Cf. Demosthenes de Corona, p. 313.

THE SOPHISTICAL RHETORIC. 83

\ the conduct of life. To make a market of the highest sub-

| jects and of divine philosophy seemed to men like Socrates,
Plato, and Aristotle, little less than a sort of simony. There
was a charlatanism in the offer to teach these things to all
comers, which was from different causes equally offensive to
ordinary men and to the philosophers. Men like Anytus
and Aristophanes complained that the Sophists corrupted
youth by teaching them subtleties and unsettling their
opinions. In this complaint there was a part of the truth.
The philosophers added the other side, by complaining that
the Sophists were shallow and rhetorical, that they flattered
popular prejudices instead of displacing them. The Sophists
were vilipended by the philosophers not merely as paid
teachers, but as paid charlatans.*?

The most characteristic and prominent creation of the;
Sophistic era was, in one word, rhetoric. But as rhetoricians, |
the Sophists were themselves the creatures of their times.
Circumstances were ripe in the Greek states for the develop-
ment of this new direction of the human mind, and it came.
Cicero (Brutus, c. 12) quoting from Aristotle’s lost work, the
Συναγωγὴ τεχνῶν, tells us that Rhetoric took its rise in Sicily,
‘when after the expulsion of the tyrants (i.e. Thrasybulus,
B.C. 467), many lawsuits arose with regard to the claims of
citizens now returning from banishment and who had been
dispossessed of their property. The incessant litigation which
this led to, caused Corax and Tisias to draw up systems of the
art of speaking; (for before this time there had been careful
speaking and even written speeches, but no fixed method or

᾿ rationale). Hence also Protagoras came to write his com-
monplaces of oratory and Gorgias his encomia.’ Every-

82 Καὶ 6 σοφιστὴς χρηματιστὴς ἀπὸ φαινομένης σοφίας, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ οὔσης. Aristotle,
Soph, Elench. ii. 6,

G2

84 ESSAY II.

where in Greece circumstances were analogous to those in
Sicily. Personal freedom gave rise to the contests of the.
law courts. Nothing was more necessary than that a citizen |
should be able to defend his own cause. The demand for |
instruction in rhetoric, and for the development of all its
arts, means, and appliances, was met everywhere by the

Sophists.

Hence the impression they produced on the national
speech and thought was almost unspeakably great. To trace
the technical changes and advances in the various systems
from Corax to Isocrates belongs to the history of rhetoric.
It will suffice for the present purpose to make a few remarks
on the Sophistical rhetoric in its relation to life and modes
of thought. Two separate tendencies seem. to have mani-
fested themselves from the very outset among the masters of
composition. On the one hand, the Sicilian school, repre-
sented by Gorgias of Leontium, Polus of Agrigentum, and
their follower, Alcidamas of Elsa, in Asia Minor, aimed at
εὐέπεια, ‘fine speaking.’ On the other hand, the Greek
school, led by Protagoras, Prodicus, and Hippias, devoted.
themselves more especially to ὀρθοέπεια, ‘ correct speaking.’
From these opposite but concurrent tendencies arose that
which may be called ‘style’ in Greece, and which did not
exist before the middle of the fifth century.

The achievements of Protagoras and the ‘ Greek’ rheto-
ricians seem to have amounted to no less than the foundation
of grammar, etymology, philology, the distinction of terms,
prosody, and literary criticism. In judging of the so-called |
verbal quibbles of the Sophists, we have to transport our-
selves to a time anterior to the commonest abstractions of
grammar and logic. Protagoras was the first to introduce
that thinking upon words which was one manifestation of
the subjective tendencies of the day. His work, entitled

THE SOPHISTICAL RHETORIC, 85

᾿Ορθοέπεια (which is mentioned by Plato, Phadrus, p. 267 C),
most probably contained a variety of speculations, as well
philological as grammatical. And even his ᾿Αλήθεια appears
from Plato’s Cratylus (p. 391 C) to have touched upon etymo-
logical questions. From Aristotle’s Rhetoric, m1. v., we learn
that Protagoras was the first to classify the genders of nouns,
calling them ἄῤῥενα, θήλεα, and σκεύη. From Soph. Elench.
xiv. § 1, we learn that he considered the terminations -is and
-n€ ought to be appropriated to the masculine gender, so
that to say μῆνιν οὐλομένην would be a solecism. In the
Clouds of Aristophanes (v. 668-692), Socrates is ludicrously
introduced as following out these ideas, and wishing to alter

ΕΞ: ᾿ Σ
πα μη termination οἵ κάρδοπος and ἀλεκτρυών to suit the femi-
ρ P

nine gender. Another of the grammatical performances of
Protagoras was the classification of the λόγος or ‘form of

speech,’ into question, answer, command, and prayer (Dio-

genes Laert. Ix. 53), a classification which seems to have had
some affinity with that of the moods of verbs. The allusions
in the Clouds to the art of metres, versification, and rhythms,
seem to imply the practice of similar studies in the school of
Protagoras. Lastly, his speculations in etymology and lan-
guage seem to have been made in support of his philoso-
phical doctrine of ‘knowing and being, —zavtwy μέτρον
ἄνθρωπος (cf. Plato’s Cratylus, l.c.).

Prodicus, who is said to have been the master of Socrates (cf..

Protagoras, p. 341 A, Hvppias Major, p. 282 C), was famous
for his distinctions between words of cognate signification and
apparently synonymous. He is reported to have said ‘that
a right use of words is the beginning of knowledge’ (πρῶτον
yap, ὥς φησι ἸΠρόδικος, περὶ ὀνομάτων ὀρθότητος μαθεῖν δεῖ,
Euthydem. p.277 E). In Plato’s Protagoras, p. 337. ἃ speech
is put into his mouth, which exhibits an amusing caricature
of his style. Every sentence contains a verbal refinement,

86 ESSAY II.

and is thrown back on itself, in order to furnish out some
antithetical distinction in language. ‘ We must be impartial,
but not indifferent listeners (κοινοὺς μὲν εἶναι, ἴσους δὲ μή).
The speakers should dispute, not wrangle (ἀμφισβητεῖν μὲν,
ἐρίζειν δὲ μή). So they will gain our esteem, rather than our
applause (εὐδοκιμοῖτε καὶ οὐκ ἐπαινοῖσθε), and we shall feel
rather joy than pleasure (εὐφραινοίμεθα, οὐχ ἡδοίμεθα).᾽

In themselves, many of the distinctions drawn by Prodicus
were probably of little value—many were overstrained, and
even false; cf. Charmides, p. 163, where a distinction is
given which is said to be after the manner of Prodicus. It,
is between ποίησις and πρᾶξιο----πρᾶξις is defined to be
ποίησις τῶν ἀγαθῶν, but we must acknowledge the merit of

this first attempt at separating the different shades of lan-—

guage, and fixing a nomenclature. The powerful influence
of this example (not always a healthy one) may be traced in
the style of Thucydides. And its full development was
attained in the accurate terminology of Aristotle.

The short speech assigned to Hippias in the Protagoras of
Plato (p. 337), and that in Hipp. Maj. p. 282, being obvious
caricatures, give us still a conception of his manner. He
appears to have united some of the splendour of the Sicilian
school to the self-conscious and introverted writing of the

Greek rhetoricians. This combination gives the sentences

attributed to him a shadowy resemblance to the style of
Thucydides, as, for instance, the following :----ἡμᾶς οὖν αἰσχρὸν
τὴν μὲν φύσιν τῶν πραγμάτων εἰδέναι, σοφωτάτους δὲ ὄντας.
τῶν ᾿Ελλήνων καὶ κατ᾽ αὐτὸ τοῦτο νῦν συνεληλυθότας τῆς τε
Ἑλλάδος εἰς αὐτὸ τὸ πρυτανεῖον τῆς σοφίας καὶ αὐτῆς τῆς
πόλεως εἰς τὸν μέγιστον καὶ ὀλβιώτατον οἶκον τόνδε, μηδὲν
τούτου τοῦ ἀξιώματος ἄξιον ἀποφήνασθαι (337 D). Of course
here the pomp of the words covers vapidity of thought, but
one can see the outward husk and hollow shell of style.

THE RHETORIC OF GORGIAS. 87

The influence of Gorgias upon the writers of Greece pro-
bably exceeded that of any other Sophist. After his first
essays in speculation, he appears to have renounced philo-
sophy, and to have proclaimed himself a teacher of rhetoric.
He was chosen by his countrymen, the Leontines, to come as
ambassador to Athens in the year 427 B.c., asking aid against
Syracuse. Thucydides (11. 86), with his usual reserve on all
matters the least extraneous, makes no mention of his name.
Diodorus (x1. 53) has the following remarks on this event :
—‘ At the head of the envoys was Gorgias the rhetorician, a
man who far surpassed all his contemporaries in oratorical
skill; he also was the first inventor of the art of rhetoric.
He amazed the Athenians, quick-witted and fond of oratory
as they were (ὄντας εὐφυεῖς καὶ φιλολόγους), by the strange-
ness (τῷ ξενίζοντι) of his language, by his extraordinary ἀντί-
Gera, and ἐσόκωλα, and πάρισα, and ὁμοιοτέλευτα, and other -
figures of the same kind, which at that time from the novelty
of their‘style were deemed worthy of adoption, but are now
looked upon as affected and ridiculous when used in such
nauseous superabundance.’ The speeches of Gorgias were
thus most elaborately constructed, and in addition to their
almost metrical character, bordered upon poetry also in their
use of metaphors and of compound words. Aristotle com-
ments upon the fault of writing prose as if it were poetry,
and he severely says that this was done by the first prose
writers because they observed how great was the success of
poets in covering by their diction the emptiness of their
thoughts.** Aristotle in another place quotes from Gorgias
and from Alcidamas, his follower, several instances of what

38. Rhet. τι. 1, 9. Ἐπεὶ δ᾽ of ποιηταὶ | ποιητικὴ πρώτη ἐγένετο λέξις, οἷον 7
λέγοντες εὐήθη διὰ τὴν λέξιν ἐδόκουν | Τοργίου.
πορίσασθαι τήνδε τὴν δόξαν, διὰ τοῦτο

88 ESSAY II

he calls ‘frigidity’ (ψυχρότης, Rhet. m1. iii. 1), produced by
pompous or poetical words and compounds. He also men-
tions two of the rhetorical tricks of Gorgias. One was that
Gorgias boasted he could never be at a loss in speaking, ‘ for
if he is speaking of Achilles, he praises Peleus,’ ὁ, 6. he will
go off from his subject into something collateral (het. m1.
xvii. 2). The other device was one full of shrewdness: he
said, ‘You should silence your adversary’s earnestness with
jest, and his jest with earnest.’ Among the imitators of
Gorgias were Agathon and Isocrates. The speech of Agathon
in the Symposium of Plato is an example of the extreme of
the flowery style. Socrates remarks at its conclusion, that
he has been almost petrified by the speaking Gorgias (7.¢.
Gorgon’s) head which Agathon has presented to him. The
influence of Gorgias may also be extensively detected in the
antitheses (often forced), the balance of sentences, and the
occasionally poetical diction of Thucydides. ;

Rhetoric, viewed historically, considered as a thinking
about words and the possibilities of language, was by no
means, as we have seen, coeval with the origin of states and
of human thought. It was a somewhat late product of
civilization. But it was a path which there was an inherent
necessity for opening and exploring. From this point of
view, thanks are due to the more eminent Sophists for their
contributions towards the formation of Grecian prose style,
for developing the idea of the period, and bringing under
the domain of art that which before was left uncultivated.
If in their own writing ornament was overdone, they may be
considered in this, as in other things, to occupy a transition
place, and to have served as pioneers to others.

34 het. m1. xviii. 7. Καὶ δεῖν ἔφη | τῶν ἐναντίων γέλωτι, τὸν δὲ γέλωτα
Γοργίας τὴν μὲν σπουδὴν διαφθείρειν | σπουδῇ.

EE ——_—_i << =<. wv litt υα-

CHARACTERISTICS OF RHETORIC. 89

But there is yet another aspect in which rhetoric must be
regarded, and that is, not merely as an affair of words and
sentences, but as a direction and phase of thought itself. It

᾿ consists in attention to form, producing neglect of matter—

in striving for the brilliant and the plausible, instead of for

the true—in decking out stale thoughts with a fresh outer

garment of words—in enforcing a conclusion without having
tested the premises. This takes up the arts of the lawyer
into the philosopher’s or the teacher’s chair; it covers its
ignorance with a cloak of verbosity; it will never confess
there is anything it does not know. This most truly keeps
the key of knowledge, and will neither enter in itself nor
let other men come in. It speaks things which it does not
feel; its utterances come from the fancy, and not from the
heart ; its pictures are not taken from nature; its metaphors
are unnecessary; its pathos is hollow. If language be looked -
on as not separate from thought, but identical with it, then
is rhetoric false thought, as opposed to true. There are, no
doubt, various degrees and stages of rhetorical falsehood.
The lightest kind is that which consists in some slight exag-
geration in a word or an expression. This often takes place
in cases where a speaker or writer fully and sincerely believes
the general import of what he is asserting; but in setting
forth the separate parts he allows himself to quit the stern
simplicity of what he actually feels. Again, when a foregone
conclusion has lost its freshness, rhetoric is called in in the
hope of enlivening it. The most flagrant rhetorical falsity
would, of course, consist in the advocacy of propositions
which the speaker not only did not believe (in the sense of
not feeling or realizing them), but absolutely disbelieved.
As men are not fiends, this is extremely rare. Rhetoric
usually juggles the mind of the speaker as well as of his
audience. It takes off the attention of both from examining

90 ESSAY II.

the truth. It is, for the most part, well-meaning, and is
much rather a defender than an impugner of the common
‘orthodox opinions. Hence it was that Plato defined rhetoric
to be a trick of flattering the populace. Hence, also, he said
that the Sophists studied the humours of society, as one
might study the temper of a wild beast. In the practice of
the Sophists, Plato saw rhetoric and Sophistry*® identical.
Sophistry consisted in substituting rhetoric for philosophy,
words for thoughts (ἐν τοῖς ὀνόμασι σοφίζονται Kai οὐκ ἐν τοῖς
νοήμασι, Xen. Cyneget. l.c.). With Plato, philosophy was ἃ
higher kind of poetry, in which reason and imagination both
| found their scope. With the Sophists, it was a harangue
(ἐπίδειξις) upon any given subject, with figures and periods
to catch applause. Aristotle, indeed, was enabled afterwards
~ to look at rhetoric in a mere abstract way, as the art of com-
position, and so to separate the rhetorician from the Sophist,
since it was not necessary that rhetoric should be used in a
Sophistical spirit. But Plato always regards rhetoric as a
false impulse in human thought; he always considers it in
the concrete, and never as a mere instrument to be used and
abused. And that the rhetorical spirit is a reality, attaching
itself above all to the highest subjects, to philosophy and
religion, and, like ‘the bloom of decay,’ luxuriantly over-
growing them,—this the experience of all ages and of every
thinking man can testify. ,

If Aristotle does not identify rhetoric with Sophistry, he
yet very distinctly acknowledges the existence of the latter
as a phase of thought. He does not, however, any more than
Plato, speak of definite doctrines belonging to the Sophists,
as if they were a school of philosophers with their own
metaphysical or ethical creed. When he says “ Some persons

% Cf, Gorgias, p. 520 A, ταὐτὸν, ὦ μακάρι᾽, ἐστὶ σοφιστὴς καὶ ῥήτωρ.

THE PHILOSOPHY OF PROTAGORAS. 91

think justice to be a mere conventional distinction’ (Zth. v.
vii. 2), or ‘Hence they call justice our neighbour’s good’
(Eth. vy. vi. 6), we are accustomed to assert that ‘ Aristotle is
here alluding to the Sophists,’ but he himself never speaks
in this way of the doctrines of the Sophists. He speaks
repeatedly of their practice, of their method, of certain tricks
in argument commonly used by them; he says that in their
teaching they put Rhetoric on a level with Politics. Again,
he treats of the position of Protagoras as a definite philo-
sophical dogma, but as peculiar to Protagoras, not as common
to the Sophists. Lastly he speaks of ‘ Sophistic’ as a par-
ticular tendency or method in thought, which he compares
with dialectic and with philosophy. Aristotle in all that he
says about the Sophistical spirit no doubt accepts, analyses,
and reduces to method much that is to be found in the
Platonic dialogues. But it would be a most unwarrantable
scepticism to consider Aristotle’s statements a mere blind
repetition of certain calumnies or hostile caricatures. Such
an opinion would not only go against all historical evidence,
but it would ignore most ungratefully one of the deepest
utterances and most significant lessons of ancient philosophy.
Truly, if Sophistry be a chimera, we had better close at once
the volume of Plato.

Sophistry, as represented in the persons of the two most
eminent Sophists, sprang almost simultaneously from the
north and the south. Also it may be said to have derived its
origin more or less immediately from two directly opposite
schools of previous thinkers. Protagoras of Abdera starts
from the principle of Heraclitus that all is becoming;
Gorgias of Leontium took up the Eleatic principle of absolute

‘unity. Both Protagoras and Gorgias may be considered to
have held their character as philosophers in some measure
distinct from their professional character as rhetoricians and

92 ESSAY II.

" teachers, and yet the results of their philosophizing coloured
their teaching. The philosophy of the two can never be said
to have amalgamated, and yet it exhibits a common element.
An accurate statement of the doctrine of Protagoras appears
in the Thecetetus of Plato, which is intended to refute it, but
which at the same time treats its author with all respect.
We see at once that it was a profound doctrine, and of the
greatest importance as a ‘moment’ in philosophy. Heraclitus
had said that all is motion, or becoming, — Protagoras
analyses this becoming into its two sides, the active and the
passive, in other words the objective and subjective. Nothing
exists absolutely, things attain an existence by coming in
contact with and acting on an organ of sensation, that is, a
subject. Thus all existence is merely relative, and depends
in each case on a relation to the individual percipient; and
᾿ therefore ‘man is the measure of all things, of the existent
that they exist, and of things non-existent that they do not
exist.’ This proposition on the one hand contains the germ
of all philosophy, on the other hand it renders philosophy
impossible by reducing all knowledge and existence to mere
sensation. It contains the germ of all philosophy by asserting
that all knowledge, and therefore all existence, as far as we
can conceive it, consists in the relation between an object and
a subject, that every object implies a subject and every
subject an object. This cannot be gainsaid, and it is in
short one of the main purposes of philosophy to lift men out
of their common unreflecting belief in the absolute existence
of external objects, into so much idealism as this. But the |
principle of Protagoras falls short in its misconception and
too great limiting of the subjective side of existence. Objects
exist only in relation to a subject, but not necessarily in
relation to individual perceptions. If individual perception
is the measure of all things, the same object will be capable

THE PHILOSOPHY OF GORGIAS. 93

of contradicting qualities at the same moment according as it
appears different to different individuals; a thing can then be
and not be at the same time; the distinction between true
and false will be done away; even denial (ἀντιλέγειν) must
cease. Protagoras acknowledged these results; he said,
‘ What appears true to a person is true to him. I cannot call
it false, I can only endeavour to make his perceptions, not
truer but better, ὁ. 6., such as are more expedient for him to
entertain.’

Man is indeed the measure of all things, not the individual |
man with his changeable and erring perceptions, but the
universal reason of man, manifesting itself more or less
distinctly in the deepest intuitions of those who are pure and
wise, and who attain most nearly to the truth. The principle
of Protagoras, by calling attention to the subjective side of
knowledge, led the way to what has been called “ critical’
philosophy, to a critic of cognition itself; and this was a great
advance upon former systems, which regarded knowledge
and existence too much as if absolutely objective. But
Protagoras himself rested in sensationalism, and becoming
from his own system sceptical about truth altogether, he
seems to have returned, (as above-mentioned), to mere
principles of expediency. His sensational theory and his |
scepticism about knowledge are not to be regarded as
Sophistical, in the Platonic sense of the word. But with

_ this sceptical foundation to all theories, to commence teaching |
' yirtue; to have thus reduced virtue to a matter of expediency

for daily life—to have combined such acute penetration with ©

so little moral or scientific earnestness—after exploding |

philosophy to have fallen back upon popular and prudential

_ Ethics—this indeed was to exhibit many of the essential |

features of that Sophistry against which Plato directed all |
his strength. We see traces of the same spirit—of acute and

94 ESSAY IL.

active intellect combined with a certain trifling and unreality
upon the gravest subjects—in the well-known sentence of
Protagoras on the gods: ‘ Respecting the gods, I neither know
whether they exist or do not exist; for there is much that
hinders this knowledge; namely, the obscurity of the subject,
and the shortness of human life.’*® This scepticism, as far
as we can conjecture its tendency, does not consist in denying
the Grecian Polytheism in order to substitute in its place
some deeper conception. It cannot, therefore, be considered
parallel to the philosophical contempt of Xenophanes and
others for the fables of Paganism. Protagoras despairs of a
theology, and proclaims his despair, and falls back upon
practical success.

The celebrated thesis of Gorgias, which formed the subject
on his book ‘On Nature, or the Non-existent,’ and of which
a sketch is preserved in the treatise, called Aristotle’s, De
Aenophane, Zenone, et Gorgia, and also in Sextus Empiricus
(ad Math. v1. 65), is one of the most startling utterances of
antiquity. It consists of three propositions. (1) Nothing
exists. (2) If it does exist, it cannot be known. (3) If it
can be known, it cannot be communicated.” The extravagant |
character of this position was denounced by Isocrates in the |
opening of his Helen. He is speaking of the inveterate habit
of defending paradoxes which had so long prevailed, and he
asks, ‘ Who is so behindhand (ὀψεμαθής) as not to know that
Protagoras and the Sophists of that time left us compositions
of the kind I have named, and even more vexatious ? for how
could any one surpass the audacity of Gorgias, who dared to

86 Diog. Laert. rx. 51, Sext. Emp. | ἄγνωστον εἶναι" εἰ δὲ καὶ ἔστι καὶ γνω-
adv. Math. 1x. 56. στόν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ δηλωτὸν ἄλλοις. Arist,
87 Οὐκ εἶναί φησιν οὐδέν" εἰ δ᾽ ἔστιν, | De Xenophane, &e. 6. v.

ἥν.

CO EEE EE ee — ee τὺν ὙΣ

THE PHILOSOPHY OF GORGIAS. 95

say that nothing of existing things exists?’ Isocrates adds
to the name of Gorgias, those of Zeno and Melissus; he had
before specified as ridiculous paradoxes the theses that ‘it is
impossible to speak falsehood’—that ‘ it is impossible to deny’
—that ‘all virtue is one’—that ‘ virtue is a science.’ Else-
where (De Permutat. § 268), he mentions as the ‘theories of
the old Sophists,’ that ‘the number of existences was accord-
ing to Empedocles, four; according to Ion, three; according
to Alemzon, two; according to Parmenides and Melissus,
one; according to Gorgias, absolutely none.’ We see then
that the point of view which Isocrates takes is that of so-
called common sense, and practical life—that he declines to
enter upon philosophical questions at all. He regards the

absolute Nihilism of Gorgias as belonging to the same sphere “|

of thought, only a more flagrant development of it, as the
doctrine, ‘all virtue is a science.’ It is always easy to set
aside philosophical views as repugnant to common sense, as
mere subtleties and useless paradoxes. But if we enter on
philosophy at all, we must accept the dialectic of the reason.
The difficulties into which it may lead us must not be rejected
as subtleties, but acknowledged, and if possible reconciled
with the views of common sense.

Philosophy, before Gorgias, had been occupied with an
abstract conception of Being, whether as One or Many. The
dialectic of the Eleatics had been directed to establish, against
all testimony of the senses, that the only existence possible is
one immutable Being. On the other hand, the Ionics main-
tained the plurality of existences; and Heraclitus especially
held the’ exact contrary to the Eleatic view, that there was
no permanence or unity, but all was plurality and becoming.
The dialectic of Gorgias coming in here explodes all philo-
sophy by a demonstration that ‘nothing exists.’ This part
of his position he appears to have maintained by bringing

96 ESSAY IL.

Eleatic arguments against the Ionic hypothesis, and Ionic
arguments against the Eleatic hypothesis.** ‘If there is
existence (εἰ δ᾽ ἔστι), it must be either Not-being or Being.
‘It cannot be Not-being, else Being will be identical with
Not-being. It cannot be Being, for then it must be either
One or Many, either created or uncreate. It cannot be One,
for One implies divisibility, ὁ.6.. plurality. It cannot be
Many, for the Many is based upon the unit of which it is
only the repetition, and is so essentially One. Again, it can-
not be created, for it must either be created out of the
existent or the non-existent. It cannot be the former, else
it would have existed already. It cannot be the latter, for
nothing can come from the non-existent. Nor can it be
‘Uncreate, for that implies its being Infinite, and the Infinite
‘can have no existence in space. These arguments are not
to be looked at asa mere wanton sporting with words. Rather
they contain a very penetrating insight into some of the diffi-
culties which beset the most abstract view of existence. The
same difficulties have been felt by other philosophers; thus,
in the Parmenides of Plato, great obstacles have been set
forth to considering existence either as One or as Many. And
Kant represents it as one of the antinomies of the reason,
that the world can neither be conceived of as without a
beginning, nor as having had a beginning. No blame can
possibly attach to Gorgias for these speculations, nor for the
conclusions to which they led. Plato himself, in the Par-
menides (p. 135 D), urges and exhorts the young philosopher
to follow out this sort of dialectic. ‘You should exercise
yourself while yet young,’ says Parmenides to Socrates, ‘in

35. Kal ὅτι μὲν οὐκ ἔστι, συνθεὶς τὰ | πολλὰ" οἱ δὲ ad, ὅτι πολλὰ Kad οὐχ ἕν"
ἑτέροις εἰρημένα, ὅσοι περὶ τῶν ὄντων ᾿ καὶ οἱ μὲν ὅτι ἀγένητα οἱ δέ ὡς γενό-
λέγοντες, τἀναντία, ὡς δοκοῦσιν, ἄπο- | μενα ἐπιδεικνύντες, ταῦτα συλλογίζεται
φαίνονται αὑτοῖς" οἱ μὲν, ὅτι ἕν καὶ οὐ | κατ᾽ ἀμφοτέρων, Arist. De Xen. &e. i. 1.

THE PHILOSOPHY OF GORGIAS. 97

that which the world calls waste of time (τῆς δοκούσης ἀχρή-
στου εἶναι καὶ καλουμένης ὑπὸ τῶν πολλῶν ἀδολεσχίας), else
truth will escape you.’ What, then, is this method? It
consists in the following out of contrary hypotheses, the one
and the many, the like and the unlike, motion, rest, creation,
destruction ; not only supposing the existence of each of thest
separate ideas, but afterwards also their non-existence ; follow
out the consequences in each case, and see what comes of the
antinomy. All praise, then, is due to Gorgias, from Plato’s
point of view, for his stringent dialectic. To the popular
mind, such reasonings appear absurd or repugnant. But the
philosopher is only stimulated by them to seek for a higher
ground of vision, whence these seeming contradictions and
difficulties may be seen to be reconciled. We can only regret
that we do not possess the entire work of Gorgias, in order
to know more accurately its exact purpose; whether his’
arguments were meant to have a universal validity, or whether
they were only relative to the Ionic and Eleatic philosophies.
The latter would seem to be actually the case, whatever was
meant by the author himself; for the destructive arguments
of Gorgias, while they are of force against previous philo-
sophy, do not touch the universe of Plato, in which there was/
a synthesis of the one and the many, of being and not-being. |
The two remaining theses of Gorgias, that being if existent
could not be known, and if known could not be communicated, |
—contain the strongest form of that subjective idealism
afterwards repeated by Kant. They place an impassable gulf
between things in themselves and the human mind. We can
never know things in themseélves, all we know is our thought, |
and the thought is not the thing. Still less could we com-
municate them to others, for by what organs could we com-
municate things in themselves? How by speech could we
convey even the visible? In this part of the dialectic of

98 ESSAY. II.

Gorgias we trace an affinity to the doctrines of Protagoras.
They each exhibit a tendency to a disbelief in the possibility
of attaining truth. The scepticism, however, does not con-
stitute Sophistry. It was not peculiar to the Sophists, but is
a characteristic universally of the close of the Pre-Socratic
era of philosophy. Aristotle speaks against it very strongly,
but he does not call it Sophistry, he attributes it to several
great names (Metaphys. m1. ὁ. iv.-v.). After arguing against
the saying of Protagoras, he mentions that Democritus said
‘there is no truth, or it is beyond our finding’ (Δημόκριτός
γέ φησιν ἤτοι οὐθὲν εἶναι ἀληθὲς ἢ ἡμῖν γ᾽ ἄδηλον) ; that Em-
pedocles said ‘thought changes according as men change;’
that Parmenides said in the same way, ‘ thought depends on
our physical state ;’ that Anaxagoras said ‘ things are accord-
ing as men conceive them.’ Aristotle remarks, ‘It is surely
an evil case, if those who have attained truth most, as loving
it best, and seeking it most ardently, hold these opinions, It
is enough to make one despair of attempting philosophy. It
makes the search after truth a mere wild-goose chase. The
cause of these opinions is that men, while speculating on
existence, have considered the sensible world to be the only
real existence. And this latter is full of what is uncertain
and merely conditional’ (Metuphys. m1. v. 15,16). Sophistry
then is not constituted by any theories of cognition or
existence. It consists in a certain spirit, in a particular
purpose with which philosophy, or the pretence of philosophy,
is followed. ‘Sophistry and dialectic,’ says Aristotle, ‘ are
conversant with the same matter as philosophy, but it differs
from them both; from the one in the manner of its procedure,
the other in the purpose which guides its life. Dialectic is
tentative about those subjects on which philosophy is con-
clusive, and Sophistry is a pretence, and not a reality.’

% Περὶ μὲν γὰρ τὸ αὐτὸ γένος στρέ- | φιλοσοφίᾳ, ἀλλὰ διαφέρει τῆς μὲν τῷ
φεται ἡ σοφιστικὴ καὶ ἡ διαλεκτικὴ τῇ | τρόπῳ τῆς δυνάμεως͵ τῆς δὲ τοῦ βίου τῇ

THE SOPHISTICAL DIALECTIC. 99

None of the remaining great Sophists, besides Protagoras
and Gorgias, appear to have entered upon metaphysical ques-
tions. Sophistry far rather consists in the absence of fixed
opinions, than in any tenets whether good or bad. As before
said, we shall find that Aristotle always speaks of it as a
spirit, a tendency, a trick, and not as a set of doctrines. In
one place he speaks of Sophistry as consisting in rhetoric
applied with certain aims (Rhetoric, 1. i. 14). Elsewhere he
says it is the near neighbour of dialectic (Soph. El. xxxiii.
11). It consists in using wrangling unfair arguments, with
a view of astounding the listener,*° in order that out of this
triumph, reputation, and out of reputation, gain, may accrue.*!

The false arguments used for this purpose seem to have
become a sort of professional prerogative ; so that the Sophis-
tical art, as dramatically represented by Plato, and as analysed
and reduced to system by Aristotle, may claim the distinction
of having exhausted all the resources of fallacy—of having
boldly entered on and utterly explored the possibilities of
error in human reasoning. Aristotle says that ‘ Plato gave
no bad definition of Sophistry in making it to be concerned
with the non-existent. For the arguments of almost all the
Sophists may ‘be said to be concerned with the accidental
(i.e. that which has no absolute existence); as, for instance,
their question whether Coriscus, the musician, is the same as
plain Coriscus ; whether, by becoming musical, one absolutely
comes into being,’ &c. (Metaphys. v. ii. 4). Plato had said
(Sophist, p. 254 A), that ‘ while the philosopher is ever devoted
to the idea of the absolutely existent, and thus lives in a

προαιρέσει." Ἔστι δὲ ἡ διαλεκτικὴ πει- | Eth. vu. ii. 8.

ραστικὴ περὶ ὧν ἣ φιλοσοφία γνωρι- 41 Οἱ μὲν οὖν τῆς νίκης αὐτῆς χάριν
στική, ἢ δὲ σοφιστικὴ φαινομένη, οὖσα | τοιοῦτοι ἐριστικοὶ ἄνθρωποι καὶ φιλέρι-
δ᾽ οὔ. Metaphys. im. ii. 20. des δοκοῦσιν εἶναι, οἱ δὲ δόξης χάριν τῆς

© Διὰ τὸ παράδοξα βούλεσθαι ἐλέγ- | εἰς χρηματισμὸν σοφιστικοί, Soph. ΕἸ.
χειν, ἵνα δεινοὶ ὦσιν ὅταν ἐπιτύχωσιν, | xi. ς-

H2

100 ESSAY II.

region which is dark from excess of light; the Sophist, on the
other hand, takes refuge in the murky region of the non-
existent.’ This ‘non-existent’ was, as Aristotle explained it,
the sphere of the accidental, the conditional, the relative, as
contrasted with absolute being. Elsewhere we find that it
was a trick of the Sophists to avail themselves of a traditional
piece of dialectic ‘older than Protagoras,’ and to argue that
to speak falsely was impossible, for that would be no less
than uttering the non-existent, whereas the non-existent has
no existence in any sense whatever, and therefore to conceive
or utter it is impossible (Huthydem. p. 284-286). Plato
maintains against this argument, and against the doctrines of
the Eleatics, that in some sense ‘ not-being’ has an existence.
We see then that to set the relative meaning of a word against
its absolute signification, to play off the accidental against
the essential, formed a main part of the ‘ Eristic’ art. We
might have conceived that Plato’s representation of the fal-
lacies employed by Euthydemus and Dionysodorus was mere
sport of the fancy, and beyond even an exaggeration of the
reality, but Aristotle gravely tells us as a matter of fact, that
these tricks were habitually employed by the Sophists.*
How far this sort of petty success was universally aimed at
by them it is hard to say. Even the more eminent among
them, Gorgias, Protagoras, Hippias, and Prodicus, can hardly
be exonerated. In spite of the appearance of well-meaning,
and a certain dignity of conduct which they exhibit in the
dialogues of Plato, yet when we read of the ‘boast of Pro-
tagoras’ (τὸ Πρωταγόρου ἐπάγγελμα), that ‘he would make
the worse cause the better,’ which Aristotle says men were
justly indignant at, and when we read of the devices of

"2 Sophist. Elench. i. 8. “Ort μὲν οὖν | τοιαύτης ἐφίενται δυνάμεως obs καλοῦμεν
ἔστι τι τοιοῦτον λόγων γένος, καὶ ὅτι | σοφιστάς, δῆλον. ;

THE SOPHISTICAL ETHICS. 101

Gorgias (mentioned above, page 88), and also when we con-
sider the rhetorical turn of these men, their activity of in-
tellect, and their boldness in dealing with grave subjects,
combined with their want of philosophical earnestness, we
can scarcely doubt that they were liable to resort to para-
logisms.

Looking at the Sophists in general, we are certainly justified
in considering Eristic, and fallacy growing out of it, to have
been one of their characteristics. The birth and prevalence of
fallacy no doubt gave rise to a sounder logic, which was
necessary as a counteraction to the Sophists. Thus, his-
torically, their vicious practice was advantageous, but this |
cannot be reckoned to them as a merit.

We now come to that which is by far the most important
question with regard to. the Sophists, namely, what was their
influence upon ethical thought? Their influence was very-

‘great. We have seen that before the fifth century moral

philosophy did not exist in Greece. Socrates is commonly
spoken of as the first moral philosopher. He is said to have
‘brought down philosophy from heaven.’ But as in nature,
so in the progress of the human mind, nothing is done ‘ per
saltum.’ The thought of Socrates was necessitated by that
of the Sophists. Without them as his precursors, as well as
his antagonists, his life would lose half its meaning. Socrates
did not so much see philosophy wandering in heaven, and
bring it down to earth and human interests, but rather he
found himself surrounded with a cloud of Sophistry which
was covering the whole earth, and he called up a human
philosophy to dispel it. From one point of view Aristophanes
uttered a sort of truth when he virtually represented Socrates
as the chief of the Sophists. Unspeakably greater, and
deeper, and holier, as Socrates is than Gorgias or Protagoras,
he has yet something in common with them, heis the leading

102 ESSAY II.

figure in a new era of conscious morality which they had
inaugurated.

The very first characteristic that is predicated of the
Sophists by Xenophon, Isocrates, and Plato is, that they
‘undertook to teach virtue.’ ΤῸ this rule, however, Gorgias
was an exception. Meno, in Plato’s dialogue, praises him
‘because he was never heard to make any pretence of the
kind, but used to ridicule those who made it,—he himself
thought that men ought to be made clever in speaking.’
Socrates on this asks Meno, ‘What, don’t you then really
think that the Sophists can teach virtue?’ to which Meno
replies, ‘I know not what to say, Socrates, for I feel like
most men on this question. Sometimes I think that they —
can teach it, and sometimes that they cannot.’ (Men, Ῥ. 95 C.)
A nearer definition of what this ‘teaching virtue’ meant is
put into the mouth of Protagoras, who boasts (Plato, Protag.
p- 318 E) that ‘he will not mock those who come to him by
teaching them mere specialities against their will, as the other
Sophists do, such as dialectic, astronomy, geometry, and
music. They shall learn from him nothing except what they
came to be taught. His teaching will be, good counsel, both
about a man’s own affairs, how best to govern his own family,
and also about the affairs of the state, how most ably to
administer and to speak about state matters,’ Socrates says,
‘You appear to me to mean the art of Politics, and to
undertake to make men good citizens.’ ‘This is just what I
undertake,’ says Protagoras. To attempt to discover in this
proposal anything insidious or subversive of morality would
be quite absurd. Protagoras is represented by Plato through-
out the dialogue as exhibiting an elevated standard of moral
feelings. Thus he repudiates with contempt the doctrine
that injustice can ever be good sense (p. 333 C), and from
grounds of cautious morality he declines to admit that the

THE SOPHISTICAL ETHICS. 103

pleasant is identical with the good (p. 351 D). There is little
reason to doubt that Protagoras may have conveyed to those
who sought his instructions much prudent advice, and many
shrewd maxims on the conduct of life and on the art of
dealing with men in public and private relations. Of the
hortatory morality of the Sophist, we have further means of
forming a judgment from the celebrated composition (Σύγ-
γραμμα)ὴ of Prodicus, commonly called ‘The Choice of
Hercules.’ It is preserved for us by Xenophon (Memorab.
mi, 21-34), who represents it as being quoted by Socrates
with a view of enforcing the advantages of temperance and
virtue. It was the most popular of the declamations of
Prodicus (ὅπερ δὴ καὶ πλείστοις ἐπιδείκνυται), and has since
constantly found a place in books of elegant extracts and
moral lessons. It would be easy to criticise and find fault
with this fable. It does not adequately represent the real-
trial and difficulty of life. If, at the period of transition from
boyhood to youth (ἐπεὶ ἐκ παίδων eis ἥβην ὡρμᾶτο) one might
go forth to a place of retirement (ἐξελθόντα εἰς ἡσυχίαν καθῆς-
σθαι), and there see presented Vice and Virtue, the one
meretricious in dress and form, the other beautiful, and
dignified, and noble; and if, when Vice had opened her allur-
ing offers, Virtue immediately exposed their hollowness, sub-
stituting her own far higher and greater promises of good;
and if, there and then, one might choose once for all between
the two, who is there that would hesitate a moment to accept
the guidance of Virtue? It may be said almost universally
that all youths aspire after what is good. If it depended on
a choice made once for all at the opening of life, all men
would be virtuous. But man’s moral life consists in a struggle
in detail; and this the figure of Prodicus fails to represent.
But the same criticism might be applied to other allegories.
We all feel that if Christian life were literally the-same as

104 ESSAY II.

the Pilgrim’s Progress, many more would follow it. Several
parts of the exhortation which Prodicus puts into the mouth
of Virtue are full of merit; a noble perseverance and man-
liness of character are inculcated; and in the denunciation
of vice the following fine sentence occurs: ‘ You never hear
that which is the sweetest sound of all, self-approbation ; and
that which is the fairest of all sights you never see, a good
deed done by yourself!’ There is something rather rhetorical
in the complexion of this discourse, even as it is given by
the Socrates of Xenophon, and he concludes it by saying,
‘ Prodicus dressed up his thoughts in far more splendid lan-
guage than I have used at present.’ But against the moral
orthodoxy of the piece not a word can be said, and we may
safely assert, that had all the discourses of the Sophists been
of this character, they would not have fallen into such general
bad repute as teachers.

Plato never represents the Sophists as teaching lax morality
to their disciples. He does not make sophistry to consist in
the holding wicked opinions; on the contrary, he represents
it as only too orthodox in general, but capable occasionally of
giving utterance to immoral paradoxes for the sake of vanity.
Sophistry rather tampers and trifles with the moral con-
victions than directly attacks them. It is easy to see how
this came about. Greece was now full of men professing to
‘teach virtue.’ They were ingenious, accomplished, rivals to
each other, above all things desirous of attracting attention.
Their talk was on a trite subject, on which it was necessary
to say something new. The procedure of the Sophists was
twofold, either it was rhetorical or dialectical. They either
(1) tricked out the praises of justice and virtue with citations
from the old poets, with ornaments of language, and with
allegories and personifications. Of this latter kind of discourse
we have a specimen in the ‘ Choice of Hercules,’ and again

THE SOPHISTICAL ETHICS. 105

we have the sketch or skeleton of a moral declamation which
Hippias, in Plato’s dialogue (Hipp. Major, p. 286), says he
has delivered with great success, and is about to deliver again.
The framework is simple enough. Neoptolemus, after the
fall of Troy, is supposed to have asked Nestor’s advice for his
future conduct. Nestor replies by suggesting many noble
maxims. ‘Tis a fine piece,’ says Hippias complacently, ‘ well
arranged, especially in the matter of the language.’ Such
like compositions of the Sophists form a sort of parallel to
the moral or religious novel of the present day. Or else (2)
they gave an idea of their own power and subtlety, by
skirmishes of language, by opening up new points of view
with regard to common every-day duties, and making the
old notions appear strangely inverted. All the while that
they thus argued, no doubt they professed to be maintaining
a mere logomachy. But to an intellectual people like the
Greeks there would be something irresistibly fascinating in
this new mental exercitation. Aristophanes represents the
conservative abhorrence which this new spirit awakened. He
depicts in a caricature a new kind of education in which
everything is sophisticated, that is, tampered with by the
intellect. A sort of casuistry must have been fostered
throughout Greece by various concurrent causes; by the
drama, which represented, as for instance in the Antigone, a
conflict of opposing duties; by the law-courts, in which it
was constantly endeavoured to ‘make the worse side seem
the better ;’ and lastly, as we have seen, by the Sophists, who,
in discoursing on the duties of the citizen, did not refrain
from showing that there was a point of view from which
‘the law’ appeared a mere convention, while ‘ natural right’
might be distinguished from it.

To be able to view a conception from opposite points of
sight ; to see the unsatisfactoriness of common notions; to

106 ESSAY II.

feel the difficulties which attach to all grave questions—these
are the first stages preparatory to obtaining a wise, settled,
and philosophical conviction. Thus far the dialectic of the So-
phists and that of Socrates coincide. But the Sophists went no
further than these first steps; the positive side of their teach-
ing consisted in returning to the common views for the sake
of expediency, That there is danger incurred by the dialec-
tical process, in its first negative and destructive stages, no
one has felt more strongly than Plato. He wishes, in his
Republic, that dialectic, as a part of education, may be de-
ferred till after thirty, because ‘so much mischief attaches to
it, because ‘it is infected with lawlessness.’ ‘As a suppo-
sititious child having grown up to youth, reverencing those
whom he thought to be his parents, when he finds out he is
no child of theirs, ceases his respect for them and gives him-
self up to his riotous companions; so is it with the young
mind under the influence of dialeetic. There are certain
dogmas relating to what is just and right, in which we have
been brought up from childhood—obeying and reverencing
them. Other opinions recommending pleasure and license
we resist, out of respect for the old hereditary maxims. Well,
then, a question comes before a man; he is asked, what is
the right? He gives some such answer as he has been taught,
but is straightway refuted. He tries again and is again
refuted. And when this has happened pretty often, he is
reduced to the opinion, that nothing is more right than
wrong; and in the same way it happens about the just and
the good and all that he before held in reverence. On this,
naturally enough, he abandons his allegiance to the old
principles and takes up with those that he before resisted,
and so from a good citizen he becomes lawless’ (Repub. pp.
537-538). It is obvious that the process of dialectic here
described consists in nothing more than starting the diffi-

THE OPPOSITION OF ‘LAW’ AND ‘ NATURE.’ 107

culties, in other words, stating the question of morals. Plato
does not here attribute antinomian conclusions to the teachers
of dialectic; he speaks of the disciple himself drawing these,
from a sort of impatience, having become dissatisfied with
his old moral ideas, and not waiting to substitute deeper
ones.

Throughout his dialogue Plato does not attribute lax or
paradoxical sentiments to the greater Sophists; he puts these
in the mouths of their pupils, such as Callicles, the pupil of
Gorgias, or of the inferior and less dignified Sophists, as
Thrasymachus. Sophistry consists for the most part in out-
ward conformity, with a scepticism at the core; hence it tends
to break out and result occasionally in paradoxical morality,
which it is far from holding consistently as a system. We
shall have quite failed to appreciate the true nature of
Sophistry, if we miss perceiving that the most sophistical-
thing about it is its chameleon-like character. One of the
most celebrated ‘points of view’ of the Sophists was the
opposition between nature and convention. Aristotle speaks
of this opposition in a way which represents it to have been
in use among them merely as a mode of arguing, not as a
definite opinion about morals. He says (Sophist. Elench. xii.
6), ‘The topic most in vogue for reducing your adversary to
admit paradoxes is that which Callicles is described in the
Gorgias as making use of, and which was a universal mode
of arguing with the ancients,—namely, the opposition of
“ nature” and “ convention”; for these are maintained to be
contraries, and thus justice is right according to convention,
but not according to nature. Hence they say, when a man
is speaking with reference to nature, you should meet him
with conventional considerations ; when he means “ conven-
tionally,” you should twist round the point of view to
“naturally.” In both ways you make him utter paradoxes.

108 ESSAY II.

Now by “naturally” they meant the true, by “ conven-
tionally” what seems true to the many.’ Who was the first
author of this opposition is uncertain. Turning from the
Sophists to the philosophers, we find the saying attributed to
Archelaus (Diog. Laert. τι. 16), ‘That the just and the base
exist not by nature, but by convention.’** This Archelaus
was the last of the Ionic philosophers, said to be the disciple
of Anaxagoras and the master of Socrates. ‘He was called
the Physical Philosopher,’ says Diogenes, ‘because Physics
ended with him, Socrates having introduced Ethics. But he,
too, seems to have handled Ethics. For he philosophized on
laws, and on the right and the just; and Socrates succeeding
him, because he carried out these investigations, got the
credit of having started them.’ About the same period
Democritus is recorded to have held that ‘the institutions
of society are human creations, while the void and the atoms
exist by nature.’“* He also said, that the pereeptions of
sweet and bitter, warm and cold, were νόμῳ, that is, what we
should call ‘subjective.’ These reflections indicate the first:
dawn of Ethics. They show that philosophy has now come
to recognize a new sphere; beyond and distinct from the
eternal laws of being, there is the phenomenon of human
society, with its ideas and institutions. The first glance at
these sees in them only the variable as contrasted with the
permanent, mere convention as opposed to nature. Ethics
at its outset by no means commences with questions about
the individual. It separates ‘society’ from ‘nature,’ as its
first distinction. This was because in Greece the man was
so much merged into the citizen; even Aristotle says, the
state is prior to the individual; the individual has no mean-

48 Καὶ τὸ δίκαιον εἶναι καὶ τὸ αἰσχρὸν 4 ποιητὰ δὲ νόμιμα εἶναι. Φύσει δὲ
οὐ φύσει, ἀλλὰ νόμῳ. ἄτομα καὶ κενόν. Diog. Laert. rx. 45.

THE OPPOSITION OF ‘LAW’ AND ‘NATURE.’ 109

ing except as a member of the state. It is a subsequent step
to separate the individual from society: first sophistically,
for the sake of introducing an arbitrary theory of morals;
at last, philosophically, to show that right is only valid when
acknowledged by the individual consciousness, but at the
same time that the broad distinctions of right and wrong
are more objective and permanent than anything else, more
absolutely to be believed in than even the logic of the in-
tellect.

Looking at the Sophists rather as the promulgators than
as the inventors of this opposition between φύσις and νόμος,
we see they applied it (as in the person of Callicles, their
pupil, in the Gorgias, pp. 483-484) to support crude, para-
doxical, and anti-social doctrines; to maintain that nature’s
right is might, while society’s right (which is unnatural, and
forced upon us for the benefit of the weak) is justice and’
obedience to the laws. It is a carrying out of exactly the
same point of view, to say, as Thrasymachus is made to do in
the Republic of Plato (p. 338 C), that justice is ‘the advantage
of the stronger.’ This position is there treated as a mere
piece of ‘ Eristic.’ It is met by arguments that are themselves
partly captious and sophistical. The real difficulty which
lies at the root of the question is immediately restated in the
second Book of the Republic, and the answer to it forms the
subject of the entire work. Another ethical topic with which
the Sophists would be sure to deal was the question, What.
is the chief good? We have before observed that this was a
leading idea in the early stages of Grecian morals. In the
discourses of the Sophists various accounts would be given
‘of the matter. Sometimes, as in the fable of Prodicus,
happiness, or the chief good, would be represented as inse-
parable from virtue; at other times a rash and unscrupulous

Sophist, like Polus, in the Gorgias of Plato (p. 471), would

110 ESSAY 11.

be found to assert that the most enviable lot consists in
arbitrary power, like that of a tyrant, to follow all one’s
passions and inclinations. This assertion of arbitrary freedom
for the individual, though, of course, not consistently main-
tained by the Sophists, was yet one of the characteristics of
their era.

Let us now briefly sum up the conclusions to which we
have been led regarding this celebrated set of men; the
influence they produced upon thought; and their relation to
moral science. We have seen how the word ‘ Sophist’ had at
first a merely general import, signifying artist, or philosopher.
We have seen how it came to be applied in a restricted sense
to the members of a particular profession, the itinerant
‘ teachers of virtue,’ in Greece, and how, from the bad repute
into which these teachers fell, the word was now applied with
a certain amount of reproach. Especially this was the case
with the adjective formed from this word ; and lastly, the cha-
racteristics of the Sophists and their procedure were summed
up in one word ‘ Sophistic,’ which was denounced both by
Plato and by Aristotle, as being a spirit utterly antagonistic
to philosophy and sound thinking. In asking further in what
did this ‘ Sophistic’ consist, we found that it by no means
implied directly immoral tenets, or an intention to corrupt
the world. It consisted (1) in the making a craft or profession |
of philosophy ; (2) hence truth was not its aim, but reputation
or emolument ; (3) hence it was rhetorical, covering with words
‘the poverty of its thoughts; (4) or else Eristical, using the
artifices of dialectic to raise difficulties, or to maintain para-
doxes. In the relation of the Sophists to society in general,
the question has been raised, Did they impair the morality of
Greece? The answer must be a mixed one. Owing to the

influence of the Sophists, and also to other causes, thought
was less simple in Greece at the end of the fifth century than

SUMMARY WITH REGARD TO THE SOPHISTS. 111

it had been at the beginning. Between the age of Pisistratus
and that of Alcibiades, the fruit of the tree of knowledge had
been tasted. Man had passed from an unconscious into a
conscious era. All that double-sidedness with regard to ques-
tions, which is found throughout the pages of Thucydides,
and which could not possibly have been written a hundred
years before, is a specimen of the results of the Sophistical era.
The age had now become probably both better and worse. It
was capable of greater good and of greater evil. A character
like that of Socrates is far nobler than any that a simple
stage of society is capable of producing. The political decline
of the Grecian states alone prevented the full development of
what must be regarded as a higher civilization. The era of
the Sophists then must be looked upon as a transition period
in thought—as a necessary, though in itself unhappy, step
in the progress of the human mind. The subjective side of
knowledge and thought was now opened. Philosophy fell
into abeyance for awhile, under the scepticism of Protagoras
and Gorgias, but only to found a new method in Socrates and
Plato. Ethics had never yet existed as a science. Popular
moralizing and obedience to their laws, was all the Greeks
had attained to. But now discussions on virtue, on the laws,
on justice, on happiness, were heard in every corner ; at times
rhetorical declamation; and at times subtle difficulties or
paradoxical theories. If physical philosophy begins in wonder,
Ethics may be said to have begun in scepticism. The dialec-
tical overthrow of popular moral notions, begun by the
Sophists and characteristic of their times, merged into the
deeper philosophy and constructive method of Socrates.

III. The personality of Socrates (to whom we now turn)
has perhaps made a stronger impression upon the world than
that of any other of the ancients, and yet, as soon as we wish
to inquire accurately about him, we find something that is

112 ESSAY II.

indeterminate and difficult to appreciate about his doctrines.
Socrates, having contributed the greatest impulse that has ever
been known to philosophy, was himself immediately absorbed
in the spreading circles of the schools which he had caused.
Cynic, Cyrenaic, and Platonic doctrines stand out each more
definitely in themselves than the philosophy of Socrates. The
causes of this are obvious, for the fact that he wrote no philo-
sophical treatises gave rise to a twofold set of results. (1)
On the one hand, his philosophy, being in the form of conver-
sations with all comers, restricted itself for the most part to a
method—to a way of dealing with questions—to an insight
into the difficulties of a subject—to a conception of what was
attainable, and what ought to be sought for in knowledge.
It was therefore free from dogmatism, but also wanting in
systematic result. Taking even the conversations of Socrates
as they are given by Xenophon, we can find in them certain
inconsistencies of view. (2) From the absence of any actual
works of Socrates, we are left to the accounts of others. And
here we are met with the well-known discrepancy between
the pictures drawn of him by his different followers, a dis-
crepancy which can never be reconciled nor exactly estimated.
We can never know exactly how far Xenophon has told us
too little, and Plato too much.

However, by a cautious and inductive mode of examination
we may succeed in establishing a few points at all events
about Socrates, and in discerning where the doubt lies about
others. There seems to be no reason whatever against re-
ceiving in their integrity the graphic personal traits which
Plato has recorded of his master. The description of him,
which is put into the mouth of Alcibiades at the end of the

_ Symposium, seems to have in view the exhibition, in the

concrete, of those highest philosophic qualities which had
before been exhibited in the abstract. Plato does not shrink

PERSONALITY OF SOCRATES. 115

from portraying the living irony which there was in the
appearance of Socrates, his strange and grotesque exterior
covering, like the images of Silenus, a figure of pure gold
within. Other peculiarities of the man have a still deeper
significance, being more essentially connected with his mental
qualities. Not only did he excite attention by a robustness
and versatility of constitution which could bear all extremes,
but also by another still more strange idiosyncrasy ; he seems
to have been liable to fall into fits of abstraction, almost
amounting to trances. During the siege of Potidzea, while on
service in the Athenian camp, he is recorded to have stood
fixed in one attitude a whole night through, and when the
sun rose to have roused himself and saluted it, and so re-
turned to his tent. It has been observed that the peculiar
nervous constitution which could give rise to this tendency,
and which seems to have an affinity to the clairvoyance of -
Swedenborg and others among the moderns, was probably
connected with that which Socrates felt to be unusual in him-
self, that which he called τὸ δαιμόνιον, ‘the supernatural,’ an
instinctive power of presentiment which warned and deterred
him from certain actions, apparently both by considerations
of personal well-being, and the probable issue of things, and
also by moral intuitions as to right and wrong. This ‘ super-
natural’ element in Socrates (which he seems to have believed
to have been shared, in exceedingly rare instances, by others)
cannot be resolved into the voice of conscience, nor reason,
nor into the association of a strong religious feeling with
moral and rational intuitions, nor again into anything merely
physical and mesmeric, but it was probably a combination,
in greater or less degrees, of all. There are other parts of
the personal character of Socrates which are also parts of his
philosophical method ; for his was no mere abstract system,
- that could be conveyed in a book, but a living play of sense
I

114 ESSAY II.

and reason; the philosopher could not be separated from the
man. Of this Xenophon gives us no idea. But in Plato’s
representation of the irony of Socrates we have surely not
only a dramatic and imaginative creation, but rather a mar-
vellous reproduction (perhaps artistically enhanced) of the
actual truth. To this Aristotle bears witness, in stating as a
simple fact that ‘ Irony often consists in disclaiming qualities
that are held in esteem, and this sort of thing Socrates used
to do’ (Hth. tv. vii. 14). The irony of Socrates, like any
other living characteristic of a man, presents many aspects
from which it may be viewed. It has (1) a relative signi-
ficance, being used to encounter, and tacitly to rebuke, rash
speaking, and every kind of presumption. It was thus
relative to a Sophistical and Rhetorical period, but has also
a universal adaptability under similar circumstances. (2) It
indicates a certain moral attitude as being suitable to philo-
sophy, showing that in weakness there is strength. (3) It
is a part of good-breeding, which by deference holds its
own. (4) It is a point of style, a means of avoiding
dogmatism. (5) It is an artifice of controversy, inducing an
adversary to expose his weakness, maintaining a negative and
critical position. (6) It is full of humour; and this humour
consists in an intellectual way of dealing with things, in a
contrast between the conscious strength of the wise man and
the humility of his pretensions, in a teacher coming to be
taught, and the learner naively undertaking to teach. Such
are some of the most striking features in the mien and bear-
ing of Socrates, not only one of the wisest, but also one of
the strangest beings that the world has ever seen; who τς
moved about among men that knew him not. One man

alone, Plato, knew him and has handed down to us the idea
of his life. When now we come to his doctrines, Plato, εἴδη
acknowledged, ceases to be a trustworthy guide. The sublime Ϊ 5

ARISTOTLE’S ACCOUNT OF SOCRATES. 115

developments of philosophy made by the disciple are with a,
sort of pious reverence put into the mouth of the master. |
We are driven then to criticism, in order to assign to

Socrates, as far as possible in their naked form, his own
attainments.

The statements of Aristotle would seem to furnish a basis
for an estimate of the Socratic doctrine; but even these can-
not be received without a scrutiny, for Aristotle was so imbued
with the writings of Plato, that he seems at times to regard
the conversations depicted in them as something that actually
had taken place. He speaks of the Platonic Socrates as of
an actual person. A remarkable instance of this occurs in

his Politics (11. vi. 6), where, having criticized the Republic ‘

of Plato, he proceeds to criticize the Laws also, and says,
‘ Now, all the discourses of Socrates exhibit genius, grace,

originality, and depth of research; but to be always right is, ©

perhaps, more than can be expected.’*? ‘The discourses of
Socrates’ here stand for the dialogues of Plato, which is the
more peculiar in the present case, since in the Laws of Plato,
the dialogue under discussion, Socrates does not appear at all

‘as an interlocutor. In other places, however, we may judge |

from Aristotle’s manner of speaking that he refers to the’

real Socrates, and not to the Socrates of literature. The

most important passages of this kind are where he draws a {

distinction between Socrates and Plato, and states their rela-

tion to each other; cf. Metaphys. τ. vi. 2, x11. iv. 3-5. The
second of these passages contains a repetition and an expan-

sion of the former; it may, therefore, be quoted alone.
Aristotle is relating the history of the doctrine of Ideas. He
tells us how it sprung from a belief in the Heraclitean prin-
ciple of the flux of sensible things, and the necessity of some

45 Td μὲν οὖν περιττὺν ἔχουσι πάντες | τὸ καινοτόμον καὶ τὸ ζητητικόν, καλῶς
ἱτοῦ Σωκράτους λόγοι καὶ τὸ κομψὸν καὶ | δὲ πάντα ἴσως χαλεπόν.

12

116 ESSAY II.

other and permanent existences, if thought and knowledge
were to be considered possible. He proceeds, that Socrates
now entered on the discussion of tbe ethical virtues, and was
the first to attempt a universal definition of them—definition,
except in the immature essays of Democritus and the Pytha-
goreans, having had no existence previously. ‘ Socrates was
quite right in seeking a definite, determinate conception of
these virtues (εὐλόγως ἐζήτει τὸ τί ἐστιν), for his object was
to obtain a demonstrative reasoning (συλλογίζεσθαι), and such
reasonings must commence with a determinate conception.
The force of dialectic did not yet exist, by means of which
even without a determinate conception (χωρὶς τοῦ τί gore), it
is possible to consider contraries, and to enquire whether or
not there be the same science of things contrary to one
another. There are two things that we may fairly attribute
to Socrates, his inductive discourses (τούς τ᾽ ἐπακτικοὺς λό-
yous) and his universal definitions. These universals, how-
ever, Socrates did not make transcendental and self-existent
(χωριστά), no more did he his definitions. But the Platonists
made them transcendental, and then called such existences
Ideas.’

This interesting passage assigns to Socrates, first, his
subjects of enquiry, namely, the ethical virtues; second, his
philosophical method, which was to fix a determinate con-
ception or universal definition of these, by means of inductive
discourses, by an appeal to experience and analogy. His
definition was an immense advance on anything which had —
gone before, and yet it fell far short of the Platonic point of
view. The reasoning of Socrates was demonstrative or
syllogistic, and therefore one-sided. His conceptions were
definitely fixed so as to exclude one another. He knew
nothing of that higher dialectic, which, setting aside the first
limited and fixed conception of a thing, from which the con-_

THE METHOD OF SOCRATES. 117

. trary of that thing is wholly excluded, asks, Is there not
the same science of things contrary to each other? Is not
a thing inseparable from, and in a way identical with, its
contrary? Is not the one also many, and the many, one?
In another point also the conceptions formed by Socrates
differed from the Ideas of Plato—that they had no absolute

existence, they had no world of their own apart from the |
world of time and space. We see, then, the gulf which is set |

by this account of Aristotle’s between the historic Socrates
and the Socrates of Plato. The historic Socrates was quite
excluded from that sphere of contemplation on which the
Platonic philosopher enters (Repub. p. 510), where all
hypotheses and all sensible objects are left out of sight, and
the mind deals with pure Ideas alone. According to Aristotle,
Socrates had not attained to the higher dialectic which Plato
attributes to him. No doubt, however, Plato discerned in
the method which Socrates employed in his conversations,—
in his enquiring spirit, in his effort to connect a variety of
phenomena with some general law, in his habit of testing
this law by appeals to fresh experience and phenomena,—
hints and indications of a philosophy which could rise
above mere empirical generalizations. The method was not
so much to be changed as carried further, it need only pdss
on in the same direction out of subordinate into higher
genera. 2

Aristotle always says about Socrates that he confined him-
self to ethical enquiries.“ This entirely coincides with the
saying of Xenophon, that ‘ he never ceased discussing human
affairs, asking, What is piety? what is impiety? what is the
noble? what the base? what is the just? what the unjust?
what is temperance? what is madness? what is a state?

46 Περὶ μὲν τὰ ἠθικὰ πραγματευομένου, περὶ δὲ τῆς ὅλης φύσεως οὐθέν. Met. τ. vi. 2.

118 ESSAY II.

what constitutes the character of a citizen? what is rule -
over man? what makes one able to rule?’ (Memor. 1. i. 16.)
In all this we see the foundation of moral philosophy as
a science, and hence Socrates is always called the first moral
philosopher. But we have already remarked (see above, p.
108) that the way was prepared for Socrates by Archelaus,
by the Sophists, and by the entire tendencies of the age.
There is another saying about Socrates which is a still greater
departure from the exact historical truth, namely, that he
divided science into Ethics, Physics, and Logic. It is quite
a chronological error to attribute to him this distinct view of
the divisions of science. He never separated his method of
reasoning from his matter, nor could he ever have made the
method of reasoning into a separate science. In Plato even,
Logic has no separate existence; there is only a dialectic
which is really metaphysics. And we may go further, and say
that in Aristotle Logic has no one name, and does not form
a division of philosophy. Again, Socrates probably never
used the word Ethics to designate his favourite study. If he
had used any distinctive term, he would have said Politics.
With regard to Ethics also, we may affirm that in Plato they
are not as yet a separate science, and in Aristotle only
becoming so. As to Physics, Socrates appears rather to have
denied their possibility, than to have established their exist-
ence as a branch of philosophy. The above-mentioned divi-
sion is probably not older than the Stoics.

Pursuing our negative and eliminatory process with regard
to the position of Socrates in the history of thought, we may
next ask what was his hold upon that tenet which in Plato’s
dialogues appears not only closely connected with his moral
and philosophical views in general, but also is made to assume
the most striking historical significance in connection with
his submission to the sentence of death—his belief in the

DID SOCRATES BELIEVE IN A FUTURE LIFE? 119

immortality of the soul. But on this point also we can only
say that a different kind of impression is left on our minds
by the records of the last conversations of Socrates, as severally
furnished by Plato and by Xenophon. In Xenophon’s Memo-

rabilia and Apologia Socratis (the genuineness of which has
been doubted, but it bears strong internal marks of being ,

genuine), Socrates is asked whether he has prepared his
defence. He answers that ‘His whole life has been a pre-
paration, for he has never acted unjustly.’ It is possible that
this answer might have had a double meaning: on the one
hand a literal meaning—that his conduct was the best answer
to his aceusers; on the other hand a religious meaning—that
_his life had been a preparatio mortis ; but Xenophon appears
only to have understood the saying in the former and literal
sense. When reminded that the judges have often condemned

those that were really innocent, Socrates replies that he has -

twice been stopped by the supernatural sign when thinking
of composing a defence—that God seems to intimate to him
that it was best for him to die—that if he is condemned he
will meet with an easy mode of death—at a time when his
faculties are still entire—whereas, if he were to live longer,
only old age and infirmities and loss of his powers would
await him— that he knows good men and bad are differently
estimated by posterity after their deaths—and that he leaves
his own cause in the hands of posterity, being confident they
will give a right verdict between him and his judges. The
only sentence recorded by Xenophon (besides the one above-
mentioned) that admits the possibility of being referred to a
future life, is where Socrates is mentioned to have said in
reference to Anytus, ‘ What a worthless fellow is this, who

seems nét to know that whichever of us has done best and

most profitably for all time (εἰς τὸν ἀεὶ χρόνον), he is the
winner. In this saying, Plato might have discovered a

120 ESSAY II.

~

reference to immortality, but Xenophon takes it to mean
merely ‘the long run,’ applying it to the bad way in which the
son of Anytus afterwards turned out. If weseparate from the
speeches recorded by Xenophon the allusion which Socrates
makes to his ‘ supernatural sign,’ which shows a sort of belief
in a religious sanction to the course he was taking ;—the rest
resolves itself into a very enlightened calculation and balance
of gain against loss in submitting to die. The Phaedo
of Plato has elevated this feeling into something holy; it
puts out of sight those parts of the calculation which con-
sisted in a desire to escape from the pains of age by a pain-
less death, and in a regard to the opinion of posterity; and
it makes prominent and all-absorbing the desire for that
condition on which the soul is to enter after death. Were it
not for Plato, we should have had an entirely different im-
pression of the death of Socrates, an entirely different kind
of sublimity would have been attached to it. Instead of the
almost Christian enthusiasm and faith which we are accus-
tomed to associate with it, we should only have known of a
Stoical resignation and firmness,—an act indeed which con-
tains in itself historically the germ of Stoicism. The narra-
tive of Xenophon no doubt misses something which Plato
could appreciate, but it at all events enables us to understand
how both the Cynic and Cyrenaic morality sprang from the
teaching and life of Socrates.

One more point is worth notice in the Apology of Soonatiliy
as it is given by Xenophon. It is the way he answers the
charge of corrupting youth. Having protested against the
notion of his teaching vice to any, when Melitus further
urges, ‘ Why, I have known those whom you have persuaded
not to obey their parents;’ Socrates replies, ‘Yes, about
education, for this is a subject they know that I have studied,
About health people obey the doctor and not their parents;

eee

SOCRATES AS A TEACHER. 121

in state affairs and war you choose as your leaders those that
are skilled in these matters; is it not absurd, then, if there is
free trade in other things, that in the most important interest
of all, education, I should not be allowed to have the credit
of being better skilled than other men?’ The fallacy of this
reasoning is obvious, for had Socrates claimed to be chosen
‘ Minister of Education’ by the same persons who voted for
the Archons and the Generals, or had he succeeded in per-
suading the fathers that he was the best possible teacher for
their sons, nothing could have been said against it. But the
complaint against him was that he constituted youths, who
were unfit to judge, the judges of their own education, and
thus inverted all the natural ideas of family life. One can
well understand the invidiousness which would be encountered
by one undertaking such a position and defending it in the
words recorded by Xenophon. Viewing this attitude of
Socrates merely from the outside, one can justify, in a manner,
the caricature of it drawn by Aristophanes. We see from
this point of view how Socrates was a Sophist, and must
have exhibited a merely Sophistical appearance to many of
his contemporaries. But from another point of view, looking
at the internal character and motives of the man, his purity
and nobility of mind, his love of truth, his enthusiasm
(Schwiarmerei, as the Germans would call it), his obedience to
some mysterious and irresistible impulse, and his genius akin
to madness,—we must call him the born antagonist and utter
antipodes of all Sophistry. There is an opposition and a
contradiction of terms in all great teachers. While they are
the best men of their times, they seem to many wicked, and
the corrupters of youth. The flexibility and ardour of youth
make the young the most ready disciples of a new and elevated
doctrine. But this goes against the principle that the children
should honour the parents. Hence a great teacher sets the

122 ESSAY II.

‘children against the fathers’; and the higher morality which
he expounds, being freer and more independent of positive
laws; being more based on what is right in itself, and on the
individual consciousness and apprehension of that right,—
tends also in weaker natures to assume the form of license.
This is one application of the truth, that new wine cannot
safely be put into old bottles.

The positive results that are known to us of the ethical
philosophy of Socrates are of course but few. Aristotle’s
allusions restrict themselves virtually to one point—namely,
the theory that ‘ Virtue is a science.’ This doctrine is men-
tioned in its most general form Eth. vi. xiii. 3. Its application
to courage is mentioned, Hth. m1. viii. 6—that Socrates said
courage was a science. And the corollary of the doctrine,
that incontinence is impossible, for it is impossible to know
what is best and not do it—is stated, Hth. vu. ii. 1. These
allusions agree equally with the representations of Plato and
of Xenophon, we may therefore treat them as historical. It
remains to ask what was the occasion, the meaning, and the
importance of this saying that ‘ Virtue is a science.’ The
thought of Socrates was so far from being an abstract theory,
it was so intimately connected with life and reality, that we
are enabled to conceive how this proposition grew up in his
mind, as a result of his age and circumstances. (1) It was
connected with a sense of the importance of education. This
feeling was no doubt caused in part by the procedure of the -
Sophists, which had turned the attention of all to general
cultivation, and especially to ethical instruction. The ques-
tion began now to be mooted, whether virtue—e.g., courage,
could be taught? (cf. Xen. Memor. m1. ix. 1.) Socrates
appears on this question to have taken entirely the side of
the advocates of education. The difficulties which are shown
to attach to the subject in the Meno of Plato we may con-

‘VIRTUE IS A SCIENCE.’ 123

sider to be a later development of thought, subsequent even
in the mind of Plato to the Protagoras, Laches, ἄς. We
may specify three different stages of opinion as to the ques-
tion, Can virtue be taught? The Sophists said ‘ Yes,’ from
an over confidence of pretensions, and from not realizing the
question with sufficient depth. Socrates said ‘ Yes,’ giving
a new meaning to the assertion; wishing to make action into
a kind of art, to make self-knowledge and wisdom predominate
over every part of life. Plato said ‘No, from a feeling of
the deep and spiritual character of the moral impulses. He
said, ‘ Virtue seems almost to be an inspiration from heaven
sent to those who are destined to receive it.’ 47 Aristotle,
taking again the human side, would say ‘Yes,’ implying,
however, that the formation of habits was an essential part of
teaching, and allowing also for some differences in the natural
disposition of men. (2) This doctrine was connected with —
the inductive and generalizing spirit of Socrates, it was an
attempt to bring the various virtues, which Gorgias used to
enumerate separately (cf. Plato, Meno, p. 71, Aristot. Politics,
1. xiii. 10), under one universal law. Thus the four cardinal
virtues, justice, temperance, courage, and wisdom, he reduced
all to wisdom. (3) The doctrine had two sides. It on the
one hand contained implicitly the theory of “ habits,’ but was
at the same time a sort of empiricism. ‘ Courage consists in
being accustomed to danger.’ (This is the expression of the
doctrine given, Xen. Memorab. 111. ix. 2, and Aristot. Hth. 11.
viii. 6.) On the other hand, it implied rather self-knowledge,
and a consciousness of a law; which is quite above all mere
acquaintance with particulars. This is drawn out in the
Laches, where courage is shown to consist in the knowledge
of good and evil; and in the Republic it is described as that

7 Θείᾳ μοίρᾳ παραγιγνομένη ἄνευ νοῦ, οἷς ἂν παραγίγνηται. Meno. p. 99 Ἐ.

124 ESSAY II.

highest kind of presence of mind, which maintains a hold of
right principles even amidst danger. (4) We have said that
Socrates wished to make action into a kind of art. It seems
to have been a favourite analogy with him to remark that
the various craftsmen studied systematically their own crafts ;
but that Politics, (which would include the direction of indi-
vidual life), was not so learned. Out of this analogy, no
doubt, sprang the further conclusion that human life must
have its own proper function (ἔργον, cf. Repub. p. 353).
Virtue, then, according to the point of view of Socrates,
became the science of living. So expressed, the doctrine
easily takes a utilitarian and somewhat selfish turn ; as, indeed,
it does in the Protagoras, where virtue is made the science
of the good, but ‘ the good’ is identified with pleasure.. Under Ὁ
this aspect the doctrine presents an affinity to Benthamism,
and also to the practical views of Goethe, and at the same
time enables us to understand how it was possible for the
Cyrenaic philosophy to spring out of the school of Socrates.
(5) It lays the foundation for conscious morality, by placing
the grounds of right and wrong in the individual reason. It
forms the contradiction to the Sophistical saying, ‘justice is
a convention’ (νόμῳ), by asserting that ‘justice is a science,’
that is, something not depending on society and external
authority, but existing in and for the mind of the individual.
Aristotle said that nothing could be better than this—if only
Socrates, instead of identifying virtue with the rational
consciousness, had said it must coincide with the rational
consciousness ; in other words, had he not ignored all distine-
tion between the reason and the will.

This defect in the definition of Socrates exhibits one of the
characteristics of early Ethics, namely, that they contain
extremely little psychology. At first men are content with
the rudest and most elementary mental distinctions; after-

‘VIRTUE IS A SCIENCE,’ 125

wards greater refinements are introduced. Plato’s threefold
division of the mind into Desire, Anger, and Reason, was the
first scientific attempt of the kind. But even in Plato, the
distinction between the moral and the intellectual sides of our
nature was hardly established. Partly we shall see that this
was a merit, and consciously admitted in order to elevate
action into philosophy ; partly, it was a defect proceeding from
the want of a more definite psychology. Socrates identified
the Will with the Reason. We can understand this better, if
we remember that the practical question of his day always
was, not, What is Right? but, What is Good? Socrates
argued that every one would act in accordance with their
answer to this question; that they could not help doing what
they conceived to be good. Hence incontinence was im-
possible. The argument, however, is a fallacy because it
leaves out of sight the ambiguity of the word good. Good’
is either means or end. All men wish for the good as an
end; that is, good as a whole, as a universal. All wish for
happiness and a good life. But good as a means does not
always recommend itself. The necessary particular steps
appear irksome or repulsive. Hence, as it is said, Eth. vu.
iii. 5, a distinction must be drawn with regard to this
phrase ‘knowing the good.’ In one sense a man may know
it, in another not. Undoubtedly, if a perfectly clear intel-
lectual conviction of the goodness of the end, and of the
necessity of the means, is present to a man, he cannot act
otherwise than right.

There was another paradox connected with the primary
doctrine of Socrates. It was that injustice, if voluntary, is
better than if involuntary. This startling proposition appears
to gainsay all the instincts of the understanding, and its
contradictory is assumed in the Ethics (γι. v. 7). But it
is stated by Socrates, and supported by arguments (Xen.

126 ESSAY II.

Memorab. rv. ii. 20), and it is again maintained dialectically,
though confessed to be a paradox, in Plato’s dialogue called
the Hippias Minor. The key to the paradox is to be found
in this, that the proposition asserts, that if it were possible
to act with injustice voluntarily, this would be better than if
the same act were done involuntarily. But by hypothesis it
is impossible for a man really to do wrong knowingly. It
would be a contradiction in terms, since wrong is nothing
else than ignorance. Therefore the wise man can only do
what is seemingly wrong. His acts are justified to himself
and are really right. The effect of this proposition is to
enforce the principle that wisdom and knowledge are the first
things, and action the second. The same is expressed in the
Republic of Plato (p. 382 B), where it is asserted that the
purest and most unmixed lie is not where the mind knows
what is true and the tongue says what is false, but where the
mind thinks what is false. Mutatis mutandis, we might
compare these tendencies in the Socratic teaching to the
elevation of Faith over Works in theological controversy,
The dialectical difficulties of morality characteristic of the
- Sophistical era appear from Xenophon’s account to have fre-
quently occupied the attention of Socrates. Thus Aristippus
is recorded to have assailed him with the question whether
he knew anything good. Whatever he might specify, it would
have been easy to show that this was, from some points of
view, an evil. Socrates, being aware of the difficulty, evaded
the question by declining to answer it directly. He said,
‘Do you ask if I know anything good for a fever? or for the
ophthalmia? or for hunger? For if you ask me if I know
any good, that is good for nothing, I neither know it, nor
wish to know it’ (Xen. Memorab. m1. viii. 3). This answer
implies the relative character of the term good. The puzzle
of Aristippus was meant to consist in playing off the relative

THE SOCRATIC SCHOOLS. 127

against the absolute import of ‘good.’ Other subtleties
Socrates is mentioned to have urged himself, as for instance
in the conversation with Euthydemus (Memorab. tv. 2), whose
intellectual pride he wished to humble, he shows that all the
acts (such as deceiving, lying, &c.) which are first specified
as acts of injustice, can in particular cases appear to be just.
In fact, the unsatisfactoriness of the common conceptions of
justice is suggested here just as it is in the Republic of
Plato. It is probable that the historic Socrates would really
have advanced in the argument on justice as far as the con-
‘clusion of the first book of the Republic. For the develop-
‘ment of the later theory he perhaps furnished hints and
Patications which Plato understood and seized, and buried in
his mind. Thence by degrees they grew up into something
far different from what Socrates had consciously attained to.
The dialectic of Socrates had an element in common with
that of the Sophists, namely, it disturbed the popular con-
ceptions on moral subjects. It had this different from them,
and which constituted its claim to be not merely a destructive,
but also a constructive method—it always implied (1) that
there was a higher and truer conception to be discovered by
thought and research; (2) it seized upon some permanent
and universal ideas amidst the mass of what was fluctuating
and relative; (3) it left the impression that the most really
moral view must after all be the true one.

The many-sided life of Socrates gave an impulse, as is well
known, to a variety of schools of philosophy. It is usual to
divide these into the imperfect and the perfect Socraticists ;
the Megarians, who represented only the dialectic element in
Socrates, and the Cynics and Cyrenaics, who represented each
a different phase of his ethical tradition, being considered as
the imperfect Socraticists ; and Plato being esteemed the full
representative and natural development of all sides of his

128 ESSAY II.

master’s thought. Plato is so near to Aristotle, and is such a
world in himself, that we may well leave his ethical system
in its relation to Aristotle for separate consideration. An
account of the Megarian school belongs rather to the history
of Metaphysics. The Cynics and Cyrenaics then alone remain
to be treated of in the present part of our sketch of the pre-
Aristotelian morals.

The Cynical and Cyrenaic philosophies were each, as has
been remarked, rather a mode of life than an abstract theory
or system. But as every system may be regarded as the
development into actuality of some hitherto latent possibility
of the intellect, so these modes of life may be regarded each
as the natural development of a peculiar direction of the
feelings. Nor do they fail to reproduce themselves. That
attitude of mind which was exhibited first by Antisthenes and
Diogenes has since been over and over again exhibited, with
superficial differences, and in various modifications by different
individuals. And many a man has essentially in the bias of
his mind been a follower of Aristippus. Each of these schools
was an exaggeration of a peculiar aspect of the life of Socrates.
If we abstract all the Platonic picture of the urbanity, the
happy humour, and at the same time the sublime thought of
Socrates, and think only of the barefooted old man, indefatig-
ably disputing in the open streets, and setting himself against
society, we recognize in him the first of the Cynics. Again
if we think of him to whom all circumstances seemed in-
different, who spoke of virtue as the science of the conduct of
life, and seemed at times to identify pleasure with the good,
we can understand how Aristippus, the follower of Socrates,
was also founder of the Cyrenaic sect. Several points these
two opposite schools seem to have had in common. (1) They
started from a common principle, namely, the assertion of the
individual consciousness and will, as heing above all outward

se

THE CYNICS. 129

convention and custom, free and self-responsible. (2) They

agreed in disregarding all the sciences, which was a mistaken

carrying out of the intentions of Socrates. (3) They stood

equally aloof from society, from the cares and duties of a

citizen. (4) They seem both to have upheld the ideal of δ᾽
wise man, as-being the exponent of universal reason, and the
only standard of right and wrong. This ideal was no doubt |
a shadow of the personality of Socrates. We find a sort of
adaptation of it by Aristotle in his Hthics (1. vi. 15), where

he makes the φρόνιμος to be the criterion of all virtue. The,
same conception was afterwards taken up and carried out to |
exaggeration by the Roman Stoics.

Cynicism implies sneering and snarling at the ways and
institutions of society; it implies discerning the unreality of
the shows of the world and angrily despising them ; it implies
a sort of embittered wisdom, as if the follies of mankind ©
were an insult to itself.

We may ask, How far did the procedure of the early Cynics
justify this implication? On the whole, very much. The
anecdotes of Antisthenes and Diogenes generally describe
them as being true ‘ Cynics,’ in the modern sense of the word.
Their whole life was a protest against society: they lived in
the open air; they slept in the porticos of temples; they
begged; Diogenes was sold as a slave. They despised the
feelings of patriotism: war and its glory they held in repug-
nance; ‘ Thus freed,’ says M. Renouvier, ‘from all the bonds
of ancient society, isolated, and masters of themselves, they
lived immovable, and almost divinized in their own pride.’
Their hard and ascetic life set them above all wants, ‘I
would rather be mad,’ said Antisthenes, ‘ than enjoy pleasure.’
They broke through the distinction of ranks by associating
with slaves. And yet under this self-abasement was greater
pride than that against which they protested. Socrates is

K

130 . ESSAY II.

reported to have said, ‘I see the pride of Antisthenes through
the holes in his mantle.’ And when Diogenes exclaimed,
‘while soiling with his feet the carpet of Plato, ‘Thus I tread
on Plato’s pride,’ ‘Yes,’ said Plato, ‘with greater pride of
your own.’ The Cynics aimed at a sort of impeccability ;
they were equally to be above error and above the force of
circumstances. To the infirmities of age, and even to death
itself, they thought themselves superior; following the
example of Socrates, they resorted to a voluntary death when
they felt weakness coming on, and such an act they regarded
as the last supreme effort of virtue. As their political theory,
they appear to have maintained a doctrine of communism.
This seems to have been extended even to a community of
wives,—a point of interest, as throwing light upon the origin
of Plato’s ideal Republic. Such notions may really have been
to some extent entertained by Socrates himself. At all events
we find them in one branch of his school. A life like that
of the ancient Cynics presents to us a mournful picture, for
we cannot but deplore the waste of so much force of will, and
that individuals should be so self-tormenting. The Cynic
lives by antagonism; unless seen and noticed to be eccentric,
what he does has no meaning. He can never hope to found
an extended school, though he may be joined in his protest
by a few disappointed spirits. In the Cynical philosophy
there was little that was positive, there was no actual con-
tribution to Ethical science. But the whole Cynical tone
which proclaimed the value of action and the importance of
the individual Will was an indication of the practical and —
moral direction which thought had now taken, and prepared
the way for the partial discussion of the problems of the Will
in Aristotle, and for their more full consideration among the
Stoics. Crates, the disciple of Diogenes, was the master of

Zeno.

THE CYRENAICS. 131

Personally, the Cyrenaics were not nearly so interesting as
the Cynics. Their position was not to protest against the
world, but rather to sit loose upon the world. Aristippus,
who passed part of his time at the court of Dionysius, and
who lived throughout a gay, serene, and refined life, avowed
openly that he resided ina foreign land to avoid the irksome-
ness of mixing in the politics of his native city Cyrene. But
the Cyrenaic philosophy was much more of a system than the
Cynic. Like the Ethics of Aristotle, this system started with
the question, What is happiness? only it gave a different
answer. Aristotle probably alludes to the philosophy of
Aristippus amongst others, in saying (Hth. I. viii. 6), ‘ Some
think happiness to consist in pleasure.’ But it has been
observed that he chooses not Aristippus, but Eudoxus, as the
representative of the doctrine formally announced, that
‘pleasure is the Chief Good’ (Hth. 1. xii. 5, x. ii. 1). This |
points to the fact that Aristippus did not himself entirely
systematize his thoughts. He imparted them to his daughter
Arete, by whom they were handed down to her son, the
younger Aristippus (hence called μητροδίδακτος), and in his
hands the doctrines appear first to have been reduced to
scientific form. If then we briefly specify the leading charac-
teristics of the Cyrenaic system, as it is recorded by Diogenes
Laertius, Sextus Empiricus, &c., it must be remembered that
this is the after growth of the system. But though we can-
not tell to what perfection Aristippus himself had brought
his doctrines, there are many traces of their influence in the
Ethics of Aristotle.

Cyrenaic morals began with the principle, taken from
Socrates, that happiness must be man’s aim. Next they start
a question, which is never exactly started in Aristotle, and
which remains an unexplained point in his system, namely,
‘ What is the relation of the parts to the whole, of each suc-

K 2

132 ESSAY II.

cessive moment to our entire life?’ The Cyrenaics answered
decisively, ‘We have only to do with the present. Pleasure
is μονόχρονος, “ὃ μερική, an isolated moment, of this alone we
have consciousness. Happiness is the sum of a number of
these moments. We must exclude desire and hope and fear,
which partake of the nature of pain, and confine ourselves to
the pleasure of the present moment.’

In this theory it must be confessed that there is consider-
able affinity to Aristotle’s doctrine of the τέλος ; and some
have thought that Aristotle alludes to Aristippus (Hth. x. vi.
3-8), where he argues that amusement cannot be considered
a τέλος (cf. Politics, vi. v. 13). In short, the τέλος of
Aristotle is only distinguished from the μονόχρονος ἡδονὴ of
Aristippus by the moral earnestness which characterizes it.
The Cyrenaics further asking, What is pleasure? answered
by making three states of the soul possible; one, a violent
motion, or tempest, which is pain; another, a dead calm,
which is the painless, or unconscious state; the third, a
gentle, equable motion, which is pleasure. Pleasure was no
negative state, but a motion. This doctrine seems to be
alluded to in the Philebus of Plato (p. 53 C),*° where Socrates,
in arguing against the claims of pleasure to be the chief
good, returns thanks to a certain refined set of gentlemen for
supplying him with an argument, namely, their own defini-
tion of pleasure, that it is not a permanent state (οὐσία), but
a state of progress (yéveows). It is generally thought that
the Cyrenaic school are here meant. In the Ethics of Ari-
stotle (vil. xii. 3), there appears to be another allusion to this

48 Here we trace something similar Apa περὶ ἡδονῆς οὐκ ἀκηκόαμεν
to the doctrine of Aristotle, that ‘Plea- ὡς ἀεὶ γένεσίς ἐστιν, οὐσία δὲ οὐκ ἔστι
sure is like ἃ monad, or a point, com- τὸ παράπαν ἡδονῆς ; κομψοὶ γὰρ δή τινες
plete in itself, perfect without relation | αὖ τοῦτον τὸν λόγον ἐπιχειροῦσι μηνύειν
to time’ (Eth. x. iv. 4). ἡμῖν, οἷς δεῖ χάριν ἔχειν.

—

THE CYRENAICS. 133

same definition, in a way which, without some explanation, it
is excessively hard to understand. Aristotle (or Eudemus),
in discussing pleasure, says, Some argue that pleasure cannot
be a good, because it is a state of becoming (yéveous). He
afterwards denies that pleasure is a yéveous, except in certain
cases. And then he proceeds to explain how it was that
pleasure came to be called a γένεσις. He says*® ‘it was from
a confusion between the terms γένεσις and évépyeva,—it was
thought to be a γένεσις, because essentially a good, to express

which the term ἐνέργεια would have been apprupriate.’ At
first sight it appears astrange contradiction to say pleasure is
thought not to be a good, because itis a yéveous; it is thought
to be a γένεσις, because it isagood. The explanation is, that
the two clauses do not refer to the same set of opinions. The
former part refers to the Platonists, who argued, as in the
Philebus, against pleasure, because it was not a permanent
state; the latter part refers to the definition of the Cyrenaics,
that pleasure is a state of motion, or, as it is here called, a
γένεσις. It is obvious that the Cyrenaic definition of pleasure,
as far as we are aware of it, will not bear a comparison, as a
scientific account, with the theory of Aristotle. Aristippus
appears to have made the senses the only criterion of pleasure,
and pleasure, again, the measure of actions. All actions, in
themselves indifferent, were good or bad according to their
results, as tending or not tending to pleasure. The Cyrenaics,
however, adapting themselves to circumstances, allowed that
their wise man would always maintain an outward decorum
in obedience.to established law and custom.

The selfishness of this system at once condemns it in our
eyes. For even acts of generosity and affection, according

50 Eth. vir. xii. 3. Δοκεῖ δὲ γένεσίς | ἐνέργειαν γένεσιν οἴονται εἶναι, ἔστι δ᾽

τις εἶναι, ὅτι κυρίως ἀγαθόν" τὴν yap | ἕτερον.

134 ESSAY II.

to such a system, though admitted by it to be excellent, are
excellent only on this account, because, by a reflex power, they
occasion pleasure to the doer. What in other systems is only
concomitant to good acts is here made the primary motive,
by which all morality is debased. The maintainers of such a
philosophy are, perhaps, half-conscious to themselves that it
never can be generally applicable, that they are maintaining a
paradox. Looked into closely, this is seen to be a philosophy
of despair. Those who cannot put themselves into harmony
with the world, who cannot find a sphere for any noble efforts,
nor peace in any round of duties, who have no ties and no
objects, may easily, like Horace, ‘slip back into the doctrines
of Aristippus.’ The profound joylessness which there is at
the core of the Cyrenaic system showed itself openly in the
doctrines of Hegesias, the principal successor of Aristippus.
Hegesias, regarding happiness as impossible, reduced the
highest good for man to a sort of apathy; thus, at the
extremest point, coinciding again -with the Cynics. It is
instructive to see the various points of view that it is possible
to take with regard to life. In the Cyrenaic system we find a
bold logical following out of a particular view. In this
respect the system is remarkable, for it is the first of its kind.
The Sophists had trifled with such views, and not followed
them out. In the prominence given to the subject of pleasure,
in the Ethical systems both of Plato and Aristotle, we may
trace the effects of the Cyrenaic impulse.

HSSAY_ III.

----.--.ῳς.----

On the Relation of Aristotle’s Ethics to Plato and
the Platonists.

E have already traced in outline the characteristics of
moral philosophy in Greece down to the death of
Secrates, and have made brief mention of two of the schools
of ‘one-sided Socraticists, as they have been called, the
Cynics and Cyrenaics. It remains to resume the thread of
the progress of ethical thought in Plato, compared with whom
all previous philosophers sink into insignificance. In him all
antecedent and contemporary Greek speculation is summed.”
up and takes its start afresh. Especially in relation to any
part of the system of Aristotle, a knowledge of Plato is of
overpowering importance. To explain the relation of any one
of Aristotle’s treatises to Plato is almost a sufficient account
of all that it contains. If one were asked what books will
throw most light upon the Hthics of Aristotle, the answer
must be undoubtedly, ‘the dialogues of Plato.’

Plato as successor to Socrates exhibits a gradual develop-
ment of philosophy. To trace this progress with any cer-
tainty is perhaps impossible, but perhaps the following
account may be a sufficient approximation to the truth for
our present purpose. At first we have purely Socratic
dialogues, as the Charmides and Laches, the Euthyphro and
the Lysis, &c. These exhibit only a negative dialectic. They
show the insufficiency of popular views and the difficulties of
the question ; they suggest the Socratic doctrine that virtue
is knowledge ; but leave the problems without a dogmatic

136 ESSAY III.

settlement. With these we may rank the Hippias Minor,
which contains in a wavering form the Socratic paradox, that
to do injustice voluntarily would be better than doing it
involuntarily. To this group of dialogues there now succeeds
another, which is still negative and destructive. Such are
those in which Socrates is brought into collision with the
Sophists, eg. the Hippias Major, the Euthydemus, the
Protagoras, and Gorgias; these are the most wonderful
imaginative and dramatic creations, they contain a picture of
all that is most living in the method of Socrates, and they
show that the Sophistic point of view is quite as antagonistic
to philosophy as the merely popular point of view. After
this group there comes a transition period in the Meno, where
Plato, seeing the limitations to the system of Socrates, and
the weaknesses inherent in it, takes the first step to break
away into a deeper and broader sphere of thought. This
first step consists in seeing the difficulty about virtue and
knowledge being taught. How can knowledge be acquired ?
In the Meno the answer is, that knowledge is ‘ remembered,’
not imparted from without. This leads the way to the doctrine
of Ideas, but as yet they are not matured. Another group
of dialogues represents the growth of Plato’s mind under the
influence, it is said, of the Megarian school of thought. In
this the ideas come forth, but as yet sparingly, and in a dry,
logical, and abstract manner, e.g. in the Parmenides, the
Theetetus, the Sophist, ἄς. The last element that has to
be added before the Platonism of Plato is complete is a
Pythagorean influence, a tendency to delight in numbers as a
symbol of the absolute, and to entertain the doctrine of the
transmigration of souls. This period of Plato’s mind we see
illustrated in the Phedrus, the Republic, and the Timeus.
In the Republic we have the full perfection of Plato’s philo-
sophy; in it all the different elements are balanced against

THE ETHICAL SYSTEM OF PLATO. 137

one another—negative and constructive dialectic ; the manner
and method of the historic Socrates, and again of a trans-
cendental Platonic philosopher ; the refutation of popular and
of Sophistic views; Megarian and Pythagorean influences; a
deep morality, and a metaphysic that almost denies the exist-
ence of the material world; and above all, and springing out
of all these elements, we have here the doctrine of Ideas in
its most deeply speculative, and at the same time its most
imaginative, vivid, and many-sided aspect.

As Socrates discoursed on nothing but moral subjects, so
we find that the dialogues of Plato, with very few exceptions,
start each with the discussion of some moral question. But
the morality of Plato culminates in the Republic. Let us
then briefly examine some of the distinctive features of this
moral system, viewed as an advance upon Socrates. We have
already seen (p. 127) that in all probability the Socrates of
real life would not have progressed farther in the argument of
the Republic than the conclusion of Book I., except, indeed,
that he might have gone on to define justice as ‘a science.’
The constructive portion of the dialogue, beginning with the
foundation of a state, is probably all a development made by
Plato on the beginning of his master. Here then is the first
characteristic of the Ethics of Plato, namely, the principle,
that ethical conceptions cannot be isolated and considered
separately. All things stand in relation to one another. You
must take the mind as a whole, or rather society as a whole,
before you can judge of any of its parts. Now here we have
not only a great advance upon the method of Socrates, who,
as Aristotle said (see above, p. 116), always sought a definite
conception of each moral term by itself; but also we notice
a reaction against what may be called the individualizing
principle in the doctrine of Socrates. This individualizing
principle, which expressed itself in the saying ‘virtue is

138 ESSAY III.

knowledge’ (see above, p. 124), and which pervaded the
whole independent life and thought of Socrates, was full of
merit as a protest against that blind obedience which saw no
other ground for morality than the dictates of the law. But
it was liable to abuse, and it ran out into an obvious extreme
in both the Cynic and the Cyrenaic schools. It contained in
itself the germ of the dissolution of society. The whole
system of the Republic of Plato contains the strongest possible
reaction against this principle. Not only does it avoid to
contemplate the individual asserting himself against society,
but it, so to speak, absolutely annihilates the individual.
Lest there should be any trace at all of imperium in imperio,
even family life is swept away. An individual is debarred
from what seem the first rights of individuality—the holding
of his own property; the possession of his own wife; and
the direction of his own faculties of mind and body. How
far this unsparing system of communism was meant for a
practical reality, it is hard to say; we may at all events
affirm that Plato meant to imply that the state must be an
organized whole, like one mind and body, with parts har-
moniously adjusted and readily working together, and all
under the direction of a supremely wise philosophical con-
sciousness—else there is no scope for virtues in the state, and
it is only by conceiving of them in the state that we can
learn to conceive of them in the individual.

Besides this appearance. of a widely constructive system,
including in its view all human relations and institutions—
which Plato substituted for the isolated moral enquiries of
Socrates, he also made another advance beyond his master by
the metaphysical and the religious aspect which he gave to
his Ethico-political doctrine. The knowledge of the Idea of
good he makes essential as a guiding principle for the legis-
lator, and the belief in a future life, and in a state of rewards

—_—

ARISTOTLE’S DEBT TO PLATO. 139

and punishments, he considers a necessary complement to the
theory of justice. One other development due to Plato makes

moral science for the first time appear something like what

we in modern times have been accustomed to conceive it, and
that is, Plato made morals in some slight degree psychological.
His account of the cardinal virtues is based on a psychological
division of human nature into Desire, Anger, and Intellect.
These principal traits of what morality had become in his
hands may now best be estimated by comparing and con-
trasting with them the Ethics of Aristotle. The Ethics of
Aristotle were composed between fourteen and twenty-seven
years after the death of Plato. If Plato could have come to
life again and seen them, he would have been surprised in the
first place at a complete terminology and set of formule in
which for the most part they are expressed, which had been
created or developed since his own day; he would have been
astonished at the growth of philosophy. In the second place
he would have found a different point of view from his own
upon many leading questions, and he might have complained
here and there of a somewhat captious antagonism. But he
must have recognized, perhaps with pride, indications in
almost every page of the work of the lasting influence pro-
duced by his twenty years’ intercourse, and by his literary
productions, on his most distinguished pupil, now become the
greatest thinker of the world.

In order to see at one glance how great was the debt of
Aristotle to Plato, let us place together and briefly indicate
those parts of the moral system of Aristotle which were
inherited from his master. These were, (1) His conception of
the science as a whole, that Politics was the science of human

happiness. (2) His conception of the practical chief good,

that it is τέλειον and αὔταρκες, and incapable of improvement
or addition. (3) That man has an ἔργον, or proper function ;

140 ESSAY III.

that man’s ἀρετή perfects this, and that his well-being is
inseparable from it. (4) The psychology of Plato, as a basis
for moral distinctions. (5) The practical conclusion of Ethics,
that philosophy is the highest good and the greatest happiness,
being an approach to the nature of the Divine Being. (6)
The doctrine of Μεσότης, which is only a modification of
Plato’s Merpiotns. (7)-The doctrine of ¢povneis, which is
an adaptation, with alterations, of a Socratico-Platonic view.
(8) The theory of pleasure, its various kinds, and the tran-
scendency of mental pleasures. (9) The theory of friendship,
which seems based on the questions started and not answered
in the Lysis of Plato. (10) Many a conception, of which
mere scattered hints are to be found in Plato, appears here
worked out definitely. To this we may add, that the very
metaphors in the Ethics of Aristotle seem, for the most part,
taken from Plato. So great an influence had the one philo-
sopher produced upon the mind and writings of the other, in
spite of their wide dissimilarities of nature and tendency. On
each of the above heads a few remarks may be made,

(1) Not only is the general point of view—that the indi-
vidual is inseparable from the state—taken from the Republic
of Plato, but also the special description of Politics as the
science of human happiness appears unmistakably borrowed
from the Euthydemus. It is interesting to compare the
conception of Politics, and its relation to the sciences, which
is expressed in Lith. 1. ii. 5-6, with, the following description
(Luthydem. p.291 B):—émi δὲ δὴ τὴν βασιλικὴν ἐλθόντες τέχνην
καὶ διασκοπούμενοι αὐτήν, εἰ αὕτη εἴη ἡ τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν ἀπερ--
γαζομένη.---ἔδοξε γὰρ δὴ ἡμῖν ἡ πολιτικὴ καὶ ἡ βασιλικὴ τέχνη ἡ
αὐτὴ εἶναι.--- ταύτῃ τῇ τέχνῃ ἥ τε στρατηγικὴ καὶ αἱ ἄλλαι παρα-
διδόναι ἄρχειν τῶν ἔργων, ὧν αὐταὶ δημιουργοί εἰσιν, ὧς μόνῃ
ἐπισταμένῃ χρῆσθαι. σαφῶς οὖν ἐδύκει ἡμῖν αὕτη εἶναι, ἣν

“ “" “- > -“ “
ἐζητοῦμεν, καὶ ἡ αἰτία τοῦ ὀρθῶς πράττειν ἐν τῇ πόλει, καὶ

ARISTOTLE’'S DEBT TO PLATO. 141

ἀτεχνῶς κατὰ τὸ Αἰσχύλου ἰαμβεῖον μόνη ἐν τῇ πρύμνῃ καθῆ-
σθαι τῆς πόλεως, πάντα κυβερνῶσα καὶ πάντων ἄρχουσα πάντα
χρήσιμα ποιεῖν. While, however, accepting this conception
of Politics, Aristotle does so in a wavering way—he says that
his science will be ‘a sort of Politics’ (πολιτική tus, Eth, τ. ii.
9): and elsewhere he speaks as if it were rather a stretch to
eall the science of moral subjects Politics! He treats Ethics
in such a way as virtually to separate them from Politics;
and in his Politics, properly so called, he makes various
general references, as we have seen (p. 36), to ‘ Ethics,’ as if
to a separate science.

(2) In Eth. 1. vii. 3-6, Aristotle, in laying down his own
conception of the chief good, which is to be the ἀρχή for
Ethics, says that it must be τέλειον and αὔταρκες. These
same qualities are attributed to the chief good in the Philebus
(p. 20 C), a dialogue to which Aristotle seems often to refer,
and from which the present doctrine is probably taken. The
words are as follows:—t7v τἀγαθοῦ μοῖραν πότερον ἀνάγκη
τέλεον ἢ μὴ τέλεον εἶναι; πάντων δή που τελεώτατον, ὦ
Loxpartes. τί δέ; ἱκανὸν τἀγαθόν ; πῶς γὰρ ov; κι τ. λ. It is to
be observed, however, that Aristotle analyzes the term τέλειον,
and gives it a more philosophical import than Plato had done.
Plato probably meant nothing more than ‘the perfect.’
Aristotle analyzes this into ‘that which is never a means,’
‘that which is in and for itself desirable.’ He accepts also
from the Philebus another doctrine, which is the corollary of
the former, namely, that the chief good is incapable of addi-
tion. He directly refers to the Philebus, Eth. x. ii. 3, saying,
‘Plato used just such an argument as this to prove that
pleasure is not the chief good—for that pleasure, with thought
added to it, is better than pleasure separately ; whereas, if the

1 Rhet.t. ii. 7. Τῆς περὶ τὰ ἤθη πραγματείας ἣν δίκαιόν ἐστι προσαγορεύειν
πολιτικήν.

142 ESSAY IIL.

compound of the two is better, pleasure cannot be the chief
good; for that which is the absolute chief good cannot be
made more desirable by any addition to it. And it is obvious
that nothing else can be the chief good, which is made better
by the addition of any other absolute good.’ The reference
is to Philebus, pp. 20-22. Aristotle implies the same thing,
Eth, 1. vii. 8, by saying that, ‘When we call happiness the
most desirable of all things, we can only do so on the proviso
that we do not rank it with other goods, and place it in the
same scale of comparison with them’ (μὴ συναριθμουμένην,
see infra, note on this passage); ‘else we should come to
the absurdity of considering it capable of improvement by
the addition of other goods to it, which, if we consider it as
the ideal good for man, is impossible.’

(3) The whole argument by which, from the analogy of the
different trades, of the different animals, and of the separate
parts of the body, the existence of an ἔργον or proper function
for man is proved (Eth. 1. vii. 11), comes almost verbatim
from the Republic (p. 352-3); as also does the account of
the connexion between the ἀρετή of anything with its proper
function, which is given, Hth. τι. vi. 2. The object selected
as an illustration is in each case the same—namely, the eye.”

(4) The psychology of Aristotle’s Ethics is based on that
of Plato, but it is also a development of it, and contains one
essential difference, in the greater prominence, namely, that
is given to the will. This, is is true, is virtual rather than
expressed, but it lies at the root of the separation of “ praec-
tical virtues’ from philosophy, and from ‘ excellencies of the
reason.’ Plato divides the mind into the following elements:
---τὸ λογιστικόν, τὸ ἐπιθυμητικόν, and τὸ θυμοειδές (Repub. p.
440). Aristotle gives a more physical account of the internal —

2 Cf. Repub. p. 353 B. "Ap ἄν ποτε | σαιντὸ μὴ ἔχοντα τὴν αὑτῶν οἰκείαν

ὄμματα τὸ αὑτῶν ἔργον καλῶς ἀπεργά- | ἀρετήν; K.7.A,

ARISTOTLE’S DEBT TO PLATO. 143

principle (see below, Essay V.), and divides the mind into
that which possesses reason and that which partakes of reason.*
This answers at first sight to the division of Plato, since the
λόγου μετέχον includes both θυμὸς and ἐπιθυμία. But
Aristotle pushes the analysis farther, dividing the reason into
practical and speculative (which is a great discrepancy from
Plato), and not attributing the same character to θυμὸς as it
has in the Republic, where it is made to stand for something
like the instinct of honour, or the spirited and manly will,
which, as Plato says, is generally on the side of the reason in
any mental conflict. In Aristotle’s discussions upon βούλησι»,
βούλευσις, &e., we see an attempt to found a psychology of
the will, thus supplying what was a deficiency in Plato, but
the theory does not appear to be by any means complete.

(5) The burden of all the Platonic dialogues is the same, .
the excellence of philosophy, and its extreme felicity. Most
completely does Aristotle reproduce this feeling when (Zth, x.
vii.) having, as it were, satisfied the claims of common life by
his analysis of the ‘ practical virtues,’ he indulges in his own
description of that which is the highest happiness, when he
says, ‘ Philosophy seems to afford wonderful pleasures both in
purity and duration’ (Hth. x. vii. 3), and ‘ We need not listen
to the saying, “* Men should think humanly,” rather as far as
possible one should aspire after what is immortal, and do all
things so as to live according to what is highest in oneself’
(Eth. x. vii. 8). We are reminded generally of the enthusiastic
descriptions of philosophy in the Republic, the Phedo, and
the Synvposium of Plato. One particular passage of the
last-named dialogue seems probably to have suggested to
Aristotle the saying (Ith. x. viii. 13), that ‘ The philosopher

8 Λόγον ἔχον and λόγου μετέχον. Eth, 1. xiii.

144 ESSAY III.

will surely be most under the protection of heaven (θεοφι-
AgoTatos), because honouring and cherishing that which is
highest and most akin to God—namely, the reason.’

(6) The principle of Μεσότης, so prominent in Aristotle’s
theory of moral virtue, is a modification of Plato’s principle
᾿ οὗ Μετριότης or Συμμετρίας. As, however, the history of the
doctrine of Μεσότης will form part of the subject of the
following essay, no more need at present be said upon it.

(7) Aristotle’s doctrine of φρόνησις, as far as we can under-
stand it in the Eudemian exposition, which alone remains to
us (see above, p. 40), seems to be partly an adoption and
partly a correction of a Socratico-Platonic doctrine of similar
import. This doctrine, beginning with the form that * Virtue
is knowledge (ἐπιστήμη), or thought (dpovnais),’ and being
afterwards developed by Plato into the form that “ Virtue is,
or implies, philosophy,’ is accepted, with two corrections, by
Aristotle. He denies the identification of ‘thought’ with
virtue, saying instead—virtue must ‘be accompanied by’
thought; and he distinguishes and divides thought or wisdom
(φρόνησι5) from philosophy (σοφία). The former of these
corrections was directed more against Socrates than against
Plato; the latter, we shall see, is an important correction of
the system of Plato, one that is connected with differences as
to the whole view of Ethics. Plato speaks quite decisively of
the necessity of φρόνησις to make moral action of any worth.
In a celebrated passage of the Thectetus (p. 176 A), he says,
‘ We should strive to fly from the evil of the world ; the flight
consists in as far as possible being made like to God; and this
“being made like” consists in becoming just and holy with
thought accompanying’ (ὁμοίωσις δὲ δίκαιον καὶ ὅσιον μετὰ
φρονήσεως γενέσθαι). In the Phedo (p. 69 B), he descants
upon the worthlessness of moral acts if performed without

φρόνησις : he says, ‘Such virtue is a mere shadow and in

ARISTOTLE’S DEBT TO PLATO. 145

reality a slavish quality, with nothing sound or true about
it.’ But a little further on (p. 79 D) he defines φρόνησις
to be the contemplation of the absolute.® We see then
that Plato requires that every act should be accompanied
by an absolute consciousness—and this absolute conscious-
ness he does not separate from that which takes place in
speculation and philosophy. Aristotle says a moral con-
sciousness must accompany every act, a sort of wisdom
which is the centre to all the moral virtues (th. vi. xiii. 6),
but this kind of consciousness is quite distinct from the
philosophic reason, it deals with the contingent and not with
the absolute.

(8) Of the two treatises on Pleasure contained in the Ethics
of Aristotle, we may assume (see above, p. 39), that the one
which appears in Book VII. is the work of Eudemus. It
has then a totally different kind of interest from that in —
Book X. It illustrates, not so much Aristotle’s relation to
. It is
in its main outline borrowed from the treatise in Book X.,

Plato, as rather the growth of the Peripatetic school.

but it also contains some peculiarities belonging to the views
of Eudemus, of which the chief are a practical, and at the
same time a materialistic tendency. It is antagonistic to
the views of ‘some’ who argued that no pleasure could be a
good, because it is a state of becoming (yéveous). This argu-
ment is refuted by Aristotle himself in Book X. Eudemus
adds other arguments for the same position, not mentioned

in Book X., which he criticizes and overthrows. None of

4 Χωριζόμενα δὲ φρονήσεως καὶ ar-
λαττόμενα ἀντὶ ἀλλήλων, μὴ σκιαγρα-
gla τις FH τοιαύτη ἀρετὴ καὶ τῷ ὄντι
ἀνδραποδώδης τε καὶ οὐδὲν ὑγιὲς οὐδ᾽
ἀληθὲς ἔχουσα.

δ Ὅταν δέ γε αὐτὴ (ἡ ψυχὴ) καθ᾽
αὑτὴν σκοπῇ, ἐκεῖσε οἴχεται εἰς τὸ καθα-

ρόν τε καὶ ἀεὶ ὃν καὶ ἀθάνατον καὶ
ὡσαύτως ἔχον, καὶ ὡς συγγενὴς οὖσα
αὐτοῦ ἀεὶ μετ᾽ ἐκείνου τε γίγνεται,
ὅτανπερ αὐτὴ καθ᾽ αὑτὴν γένηται καὶ

“ἐξῇ αὐτῇ---καὶ τοῦτο αὐτῆς τὸ πάθημα

φρόνησις κέκληται.

146 ESSAY III.

these, however, are to be found in the Philebus, or any
dialogue of Plato. They are, in all probability, to be attri-
buted to the Platonic school. There is a direct mention, in
connexion with one of the arguments, of the name of Speu-
sippus (ΕἸ. vu. xiii. 1). Turning now to Book X., we find
the question as to the nature of pleasure opened by the state-
ment of two extreme views on the subject; one, that of the
Cynics—that pleasure was ‘entirely evil’ (κομιδῇ φαῦϑλον)---
the other, that of Eudoxus, that pleasure was the chief good.
The first view Aristotle sets aside as having rather a moral
and practical than a speculative character; and as being,
though well-intentioned, at all events an over-statement of
the truth. He specifies four arguments of Eudoxus to prove
that pleasure is the chief good. (qa) All creatures seek it.
(b) It is contrary to pain. (c) It is sought for its own sake.
(d) Added to any good, it makes that good better. He then
mentions the objections (ἐνστάσεις) made to each of these
four, and shows that none of the objections is valid, except
that brought against the last of the arguments. He shows
from Plato (see above, p. 141), that the fact that pleasure
can be added to other goods disproves, instead of proving,
its claim to be considered the chief good. Aristotle now
mentions other general arguments that have been brought
against pleasure—namely, that it is not a quality: that it is
indefinite (ἀόριστον) ; that it is a motion, a becoming, or a
replenishment (κίνησις, yéveots, ἀναπλήρωσι5) ; again, that
there are many disgraceful pleasures. He answers all these
objections, and having accepted the Platonic position that —
pleasure is, at all events, not the chief good, he proceeds to
give his own theory of its nature, considering it to be, except
in certain cases, a good, and analyzing its character more
accurately than had hitherto been done. In all this we can-
not trace anything like a direct antagonism to the Philebus

ARISTOTLE’'S DEBT TO PLATO. 147

or to any other part of Plato’s works. Far rather, as we
shall have an opportunity of seeing more distinctly in the
next Essay, Aristotle, while perfectly coinciding with and
accepting Plato’s general theory of pleasure, the division of
its different kinds, the distinction between bodily pleasures
which are preceded by desire and a sense of pain, and the
mental pleasures which are free from this; while accepting,
that is, the whole theory in its moral and practical bearing,
refines and improves upon it as a speculative question, sub-
stituting a more accurate and appropriate definition of
pleasure than is to be found in Plato.

(9) We cannot doubt that Aristotle’s attention was turned
to the consideration of the subject of friendship by the im-
portance that Plato attributed to it, and the interesting part
which he makes it play in his system. Both the Lysis and
the Phedvus are devoted to the discussion of friendship.
In the former dialogue little more is done than starting
the difficulties, some of which are taken up and re-stated
in the beginning of Aristotle’s treatise (Eth. vit. i. 6);
‘ Whether does friendship arise from similarity, or from dis-
similarity? Does it consist in sympathy, or in the harmony a
of opposites ?’ In the Phedrus a passionate and enthusiastic\ ‘vu ἐ τι © »
picture of friendship is given, which renders it not distin- | ᾿ ὁ rm
guishable from love; its connexion with the highest kind of | 4
imagination, and with the philosophic spirit, is dwelt upon at
length. In Aristotle nothing of this kind is to be discovered. ,
The picture is colder, but at the same time more natural and
human. In the ninth chapter of Book IX. a fine philosophic
account of the true value of friendship is to be found, on
which more will be said in the succeeding Essay. The whole
of this subject is treated with depth and also with moral
earnestness, which renders it one of the most attractive parts
of Aristotle’s Hthics. We see throughout that on every

L2

148 ESSAY III.

point of the question the analysis has been pushed farther
than Plato carried it.

(10) It remains now to mention, what any one will be
conscious of who reads the Platonic dialogues in order to
illustrate Aristotle — that scattered through the pages of
Plato will be found hints and suggestions afterwards worked
out by his successor, and floating conceptions that in Plato
have no determinate meaning, but which in the Ethics of
Aristotle, as well as in his other works, have become, or are
becoming, fixed and definite terms. Of course the more
broad and general conceptions, such as τέλος, δύναμι5, τὸ
ὡρισμένον, τί ἐστι; and ποῖον ti;, and a host of other meta-
physical and logical formule, are developments of what is to
be found in Plato. But also more special conceptions appear,
in germ at least, to have been borrowed. Take, for instance,
ὀρθὸς λόγος (Hth. τι. ii. 2); this term, which appears used
first in a tentative sort of way in the Aristotelian philosophy,
and afterwards more definitely (Eth. v1. i. 1) to express the
moral standard, occurs here and there in the Platonic pages
coupled with ἐπιστήμη and other such terms, in an approxi-
mation to Aristotle’s meaning, but by no means reaching it
(see infra, note on Eth. τι. ii. 2). So also the conception
of παΐίδεια to express a general connoisseurship of science,
and especially some acquaintance with the logic of science,
as it is used Eth. 1. iii. 4 (on which see the notes ad locum),
is to be found in the Timeus, p. 53 C, and in the so-called
Evraste of Plato, p. 135.

We have said that the very metaphors in Aristotle seem
often to have been inherited. That of the ‘bowmen’ (πῆι.
I. ii. 2) occurs in Republic, p. 519 C. That of the “ Aristeia
for pleasure’ (Eth. I. xii. 5) comes from the Philebus, p. 22 E.
The analogy between the political philosopher and an oculist
(Eth. 1. xiii. 7) is from the Charmides, p. 155 B. The com-

ARISTOTLE’S DISSENT FROM PLATO. 149

parison of mental extremes to excesses in gymnastic training
(Eth. u. ii. 6) occurs in the Eraste, p. 134. The metaphor
of ‘straightening bent wood’ (th. τι. ix. 5) is from the
Protagoras, p. 325 D. The comparison of those who
have made their own fortune to poets and mothers, who
love their offspring (th. tv. i. 20, Ix. vii. 7), is from the
Republic, p. 330 C. This list of examples might doubtless
be increased.

We have traced hitherto the close connexion of the Ethics
of Aristotle in almost all its parts with the system of Plato.
We have now to show that this connexion was not only one
of succession, inheritance, and development, but also was one
of antagonism. Already we have seen that even Aristotle’s
following of Plato was often tinged with discrepancy. We
have now to notice those parts of his Ethics which are directly
characterized and even prompted by a spirit of difference and
of polemic.

The greatest difference between Plato and Aristotle is that
expressed in the sixth Chapter of Book I.—Aristotle’s dissent
from the theory of the Idea of good. Elsewhere, Aristotle
criticizes the Ideas altogether; here, in conformity with his
present purpose, he confines himself to the Idea of good. To
exactly comprehend and explain Plato’s Ideas has always
been a problem. Aristotle tells us they rose from a union
between the universal definitions of Socrates and the Hera-
clitean doctrine of the fleeting character of all objects of
sense. To put this a little more clearly, the position is as
follows: we desire some permanent and certain knowledge. ἡ
Let us take some object and try to know it, 6. g. ‘this man.’
Looking closely into it we find at once that, in ‘this man,’
we are in possession of a conception made up of two ele-
ments, a universal and a particular. ‘Man’ is universal,

_ ‘this’ is particular. Now ‘this’ may be infinitely various.

150 ESSAY III.

It is purely relative, entirely changeable. It baffles all
attempts at knowledge. The more we analyze ‘this,’ the
more it escapes us, and comes to actually nothing. What
constitutes ‘this’ man? Particular time and place, particular
qualities, such as form, colour, size, and the like. But time
and place, form, colour, and size are all in themselves uni-
versals. ‘This’ man is determined by ‘this’ time, place,
form, &c. But, again, what is ‘this time’? The particular
element in ‘this time’ is equally unknowable and unex-
pressible with the particular element in ‘this man.’ Hence
Heraclitus said, οὐκ ἔστιν ἐπιστήμη τῶν αἰσθητῶν. Let us
now take the other side, and look at the universal element,
‘man.’ This is something permanent and stable; this con-
stitutes a unity in the midst of plurality; this the mind can
rest in contemplating. We give to this universal element
the name of form or idea (εἶδος, ἰδέα), a name borrowed
probably from Democritus, who spoke of the ‘forms’ of
things being emanations from things themselves, and consti-
tuting our knowledge of the things. And now another step
has to be taken; we must throw out all distinction between
knowledge and existence. Since things exist for us solely
through our knowledge of them, and we cannot conceive
them existing at all, except as either for our minds or for
some other minds, we must give up entirely that dualism
which would suppose two terms standing opposite each other,
namely, the object and the mind, and we must speak now of
one term alone. Nothing exists except what we know.
Knowledge and existence are identical, since, as Protagoras
said (only in an altered sense), the mind is ‘the measure of
all things; of existing things that they exist, of non-existent
things that they do not exist.’ Taking as established the
identity of knowledge and existence, we may use one term
to express this identity, namely, ‘truth’ (ἀλήθεια), which

HIS CRITICISM OF THE ‘IDEA OF GOOD.’ 151

equally implies reality of existence in things, and the right
apprehension of them in the mind.

What is it that possesses truth, or reality ? Not particulars,
which, as we saw before, are (in so far as they are particulars)
unknowable, but the universal, the idea. The universal ele-
ment, or idea, may hence be said to be the only real existence,
while the particulars have only a sort of illusory, or mock
existence ; when we look closely into them we find they are
mere shadows of reality. Hence Plato, following out this
train of thought, said, by a forcible metaphor, that common
persons who fancy the particulars to be real existences are
like men in a dimly-lighted cave, taking the shadows on the
wall to be realities. By an equally strong metaphor, which
Aristotle speaks of as mere poetry (Metaphys. τ. ix. 12), Plato
called the Ideas archetypes (παραδείγματα) of sensible things. |
In this metaphor several points are expressed. (1) That

knowledge is rather prior to experience than derived from
it. Experience is the occasion, and not the cause of know-
ledge. This Plato expressed by saying that all our know-
ledge is ‘ reminiscence.’ Things in the world are constantly
reminding us of, and calling up, the reminiscence of the Ideas
which we saw in their pure state, before we were born. (2)
That the forms of the mind are permanent, while the material
universe is fleeting. The mind is always prior to, and greater
than, the world. This points, as Plato argued in the Phedo,
to the immortality of the soul. (3) The Eleatics had denied
the existence of motion, plurality, change; in short, the whole
sensible creation. Plato does not go so far as this; though
infinitely less real than the Ideas, he allows that it has some
share of reality. Metaphorically, he says, “it partakes of the
Ideas.’ The Ideas are archetypes of things; in other words,
in the midst of the unknowable, the fleeting, the chaotic,
the moveable—there is law, unity, form, order, symmetry,

152 ESSAY III.

the permanent, and the absolute, existing not materially, but
as ideas, dimly seen by the mind, because it is not pure
enough; seen more distinctly, according to the purity and
elevation of the mind, and always more or less suggested.
We are now brought to that part of Plato’s doctrine where
he spoke of the ‘ Idea of good.’ Of this he says (Repub. p.
509 B), that * As the sun affords to all visible objects not only
the power of being seen, but also growth, increase, and nourish-
ment; so is there afforded to all objects of knowledge by the
good not only the being known, but also their very being
and existence. The good is not existence, but is above and
beyond existence (ἔτε ἐπέκεινα τῆς οὐσίας) in dignity and
power. In the Philebus (p. 65 A), it is said that ‘the good
cannot be comprehended in one idea alone, but it may be
taken in three manifestations ; beauty, symmetry, and truth.’
We see what a metaphysical world we have now to deal with.
It is not the material world immediately, but the world of
pure cognitions (τὰ γινωσκόμενα), that depend on the good
for their existence. Every cognition must have the Idea of
good present in it. We cannot conceive anything existing
except as being good. Evil, in the shape of disease, crime,
pain, &c., Plato, from this point of view, would call the non-
existent; it is the negation of existence, the want of existence
in some way or other; it is the chaotic, the formless, that
which has no universality or absoluteness, that which the
mind cannot deal with. The Idea of good in the world of
thought Plato compared to the sun in the material world;
following out this metaphor, evil would be as the shadows
which are the mere negation of light, and yet they are neces-
sary to relieve the light, for were all light, nothing would be
visible; and so too evil, as the negation of good, may be
said to be necessary to its existence. ‘ Good,’ says Plato, ‘is
the cause of existence and knowledge.’ This opens a sublime

HIS CRITICISM OF THE ‘IDEA OF GOOD.’ 153

conception, on the one hand, of a world in which all things
are very good; on the other hand, of a philosophy whose
method of the deepest knowledge consists in no mere abstract
investigations, nor any mere accumulation of experience, but
in apprehending with enthusiasm and joy the all-pervading
idea of Good, as it manifests itself under the three forms of
beauty, symmetry, and truth. The Idea of good Plato
would by no means confine to metaphysics, as if it had no
application to the other sciences. On the contrary, his great
object was to raise Morals and Politics above all mere em-
piricism into philosophy properly so called. Hence he says
that ‘States will never prosper till philosophers are kings’ ;
again, he says, ‘The guardian of the state must know with
certainty that which all vaguely seek and aspire after —
namely, what is the good’ (Repub. p. 505-6). The Idea of
good then, according to Plato, is to be a principle influencing |
human action, and necessarily forming a part of any system
of Politics or Morals worthy of being called so.

‘ith this position Aristotle joins issue. After stating the
theory in the following words (th. 1. iv. 3), ‘Some have
thought that besides all these manifold goods upon earth,
there is some other absolute good, which is the cause to all
these of their being good’; he proceeds to criticize the tena-
bility of such a conception, and concludes his argument by
saying, ‘ But we may dismiss the Idea at present, for if there
is any one good, universal and generic, or transcendental
(χωριστόν) and absolute, it obviously can neither be realized
nor possessed by man, whereas something of this latter kind
is what we are inquiring after’ (Hth. 1. vi. 13). He follows
up those remarks by saying that ‘Perhaps some may think
the knowledge of the idea may be useful as a pattern
(παράδειγμα) by which to judge of relative good.’ Against
this he argues that ‘ There is no trace of the arts making any

154 ESSAY III.

use of such a conception; the cobbler, the carpenter, the
physician, and the general, all pursue their vocations without
respect to the absolute good, nor is it easy to see how they
could be advantaged by apprehending it.’

This criticism is a direct denial of Plato’s point of view.
Plato, who had expressed himself utterly dissatisfied with the
empirical and prudential morality of his countrymen, and
who wished to raise morality and Politics (which with him
was but morality on an extended scale) into something wise,
philosophical, and absolute—made certain requisitions for
this. He demanded that a full philosophic consciousness
should govern everything. He required that a knowledge of
the good-in-itself should be present to the mind. He ac-
knowledges, it is true, that the philosopher, after dealing with
sublime speculations, may seem dazzled and confused when
he is suddenly confronted with the petty details of life, the
quibbles of law-courts, &c. But on the other hand he seems
to have considered, not only that philosophy was indispensable
to morality, but also that the mind, by contemplating the.
Idea of good, would become conformed to it. _This Idea,
then, was not merely an object for the abstract reason; it
was an object for the imagination also, and an attraction for
the highest kind of desires. It was not only an idea, but
also an ideal. Aristotle, in a clearer and more analytic way,
regards the Idea as something out of all relation to action
(οὐ πρακτόν), as a metaphysical conception simply, if, indeed,
it could be entertained at all. He then entirely separates it
from Ethics. He considers that the guiding principle (ἀρχή)
for Ethics must be not this absolute transcendental good, but
a practical good, which he envisaged as happiness, or the end
for man. These two views must stand for ever apart, and on
each side there seems to be some degree of merit and some
degree of fault. Fine as is Plato’s conception of science, it

- — αγν “ΞΎ-

weer

HIS CRITICISM OF THE ‘IDEA OF GOOD.’ 155

must be confessed that there is some degree of vagueness
about it. We need not put ourselves in the position of Plato’s
contemporaries, those of whom the story is related that
‘They went to him expecting to hear about the chief good
for man, but they were disappointed, for he put them off with
a quantity of remarks about numbers and things they could
not understand.’ But even taking Plato as ‘a philosopher
for philosophers, there seems to be something not quite
explained in his system. Infinitely rich as he was in invention
and suggestion, we might almost say that he required an
Aristotle as his successor to give definiteness to his conceptions.
When then we turn to Aristotle, we find the power that is
gained by a division of the sciences. We find no longer an
effort to attain to that highest point of union for all know-
ledge and all existence, which is far above the ordinary ken,
and which can hardly be viewed otherwise than by occasional
glimpses—but rather an effort after clearness and complete-
ness, after the arrangement of all experience under appropriate
and separate leading conceptions. It is easy to see what an
immense field is at once laid open. Rapid indeed and won-
derful were the achievements of a mind like that of Aristotle.
But when all is done, one feels also that something has also
been lost by this separate treatment of different subjects.
One desires again to see Ethics not dissevered from Theology
and Metaphysics.

As yet we have only spoken of Aristotle’s treatment of the
Idea of good in its relation to ethical science; we must now
advert: to his general treatment of it as a theory. In the first
place, we remark that Aristotle gives a very limited and re-
stricted representation of the theory before criticizing it. He
does not enter upon, or even mention, that most striking
characteristic of the Idea of good, which Plato assigns to it,
namely, that it is the cause of existence to all objects of cog-

156 ESSAY III.

nition, and also the cause of our knowing them. Aristotle
merely speaks of: it as ‘The cause to all other goods of their
being good.’ He also calls it ‘the Universal’ (τὸ καθόλου),
and enquires in what sense its existence is asserted (πῶς
λέγεται). He leaves out then all discussion of that higher
and at the same time more difficult part of the theory which
makes the good the central cause of all ‘ knowing and being’ ;
he makes the question a drily logical one, as to the nature of
universals. What is the meaning of this word good? Is all
good one? Is there one absolute conception of good under
which you can reduce all separate goods? Is there the same
law of good (τὸν τἀγαθοῦ λόγον, Eth. 1. vi. 11) in all goods
properly so called? Else how is the universal name to be
accounted for? These are the questions which Aristotle
seems to propose to himself. We see how totally different
from Plato’s is his point of view at starting.

After an expression of respect and good feeling towards
the Platonic school, he proceeds directly to bring a series of
arguments against the tenability of their doctrine,—and these
arguments are briefly as follows:—(1) The Platonists them-
selves allowed that where there is an essential succession (τὸ
πρότερον καὶ TO ὕστερον) between any two conceptions, these
could not be brought under a common idea. But this suc-
cession occurs in different kinds of good. Good in relation,
e.g. the useful, is essentially later than good in substance,
and therefore cannot fall under the same idea. (2) If all
good were one, it ought to be predicated under only one
category, whereas it can be predicated under all. (3) If it
were one, it would be treated of by only one science. (4)
The Idea is only a repetition of phenomena, for with these it
is really identical. (5) Even the most essential and un~
doubted goods seem incapable of being reduced to one idea.
Every one has felt the unsatisfactoriness of these arguments ;

HIS CRITICISM OF THE ‘IDEA OF GOOD.’ 157

they seem captious, verbal, unreal, and not to touch the point
at issue. Let us examine them separately. Argument (1)
seems to beg the question. It refers to the Platonic doctrine
of the ideal numbers (referred to Metaphys. x11. vi. 7), which
they held to stand in absolute and immutable succession to
each other, and to be incapable of being brought themselves
under one common Idea. To this Aristotle compares the
relation between relative and absolute goods; he says the one
stands in immutable succession to the other, therefore there
can be no common idea of them. A Platonist might reply,
that this is a mere assumption ; that in the case of the ideal
numbers, Unity and Duality, for instance, stand in such
essential contradistinction to each other, that they are Ideas
themselves, and therefore there cannot be Ideas of them.
But with regard to the goods, all that is relative in them is |
merely the particular, the non-existent, which the philoso-
phical reason cannot deal with. It is absurd to make the
relativity of the relative good an immutable and permanent
quality, which is for ever to distinguish it from the good in
itself. (2) The second argument is a mere repetition of the
first. Aristotle takes certain categories, namely, substance,
quality, quantity, relation, time and place, &c. (καὶ ἕτερα
τοιαῦτα), and shows that there are different modes of the
good under these different categories. Now, these categories
might all be reduced to substance and relation, and then
the argument is, ‘ You have good in substance, and good in
different relations; can these be considered the same?’ (3)
The argument of the sciences is a carrying out of the same
objection. Aristotle argues that the sciences point to a still
greater subdivision of good. For good, in relation to time,
for instance,—that is, opportunity, may be treated of by
strategics, or by medicine; and so on with good under the
other categories; the sciences still more minutely subdivide it.

158 ESSAY III.

Plato might well complain of this subdivision of the
sciences being brought as an argument against him, when he
had so anxiously urged (Repub. p. 534 E) that in dialectic all
sciences united, and dialectic was the science of the idea of
good. Even Aristotle had made a union of the practical
sciences in Politics (Eth, 1. ii. 6), and had he contented him-
self with maintaining here that the πρακτὸν ἀγαθόν, the
subject of Politics and its subordinate sciences, must always
be distinct from the νοητὸν ayabor, the subject of metaphysics,
we must have allowed that such a point of view was fair and
admissible. But his present mode of statement makes the
argument, both relatively to Plato and also in itself, worth-
less. When we look back on the whole of these three argu-
ments, it seems almost inconceivable that Aristotle should
have believed them to be valid. We can only say with regret,
that on some points this great mind seems to have descended
to a sort of smallness. We must also consider that to be
able with perfect fairness to represent an antagonist’s system
was not commonly the merit of antiquity. Certainly it was
not always the merit of Aristotle. His accounts of other
philosophers, as, for instance, in the first book of the Meta-
physics, frequently contain something garbled. Again, the
direction of his mind was totally different from Plato’s; his
leaning was predominantly towards experience, and though
by no means a mere empiricist or a mere nominalist, yet he -
was excessively unequal in his views, and sometimes relapses
into what seems a merely popular level of thought. To keep
his mind at the Platonic point of view would have been to
Aristotle a great difficulty, especially for the simple purpose
of criticizing Plato. Probably he went with Plato at one
period in his youth, then became dissatisfied with parts of the
system, with its poetical and enthusiastic character, and with
its want of analytic distinctness; then he worked out his own

i ΎΎΉΥΉΌΠΠΠΠ

HIS CRITICISM OF THE ‘IDEA OF GOOD.’ 159

system, which at times bears a close similarity to that of
Plato; then, after an interval of perhaps twenty years’
alienation, he set himself to refute his master’s doctrines.
If we picture to ourselves this course, we shall be able in
some degree to explain the tone of the arguments used in the
present place, and elsewhere where Aristotle attacks the
system of ideas.

To resume our examination, the fourth argument is one of
which Aristotle seems fond, that the idea (αὐτοέκαστον) is a
mere repetition of phenomena, exhibiting the same law as the
particulars, indistinguishable from them, and therefore per-
fectly useless. This objection is expressed in the Metaphysics
(1. ix. 1) by saying that ‘The Ideas are as if one was unable
to count a few things, and thought it would be easier to count
them when they were more.’ Nothing could be a greater
misstatement of Plato’s view, for this argument assumes the”
reality, the substantive and absolute existence of the par-
ticulars, and then speaks of the idea or the universal being
appended to the end of the row, in order to explain them.
Whereas Plato would say the particulars disappear out of
sight, on looking into them I find they have no existence,
while the universal grows more and more in reality, and
absorbs all the attention of the mind. Instead of ‘ multi-
plying phenomena,’ Plato would say, ‘The idea reduces
phenomena to unity.’ Aristotle’s account represents the

~ universal or absolute existence as if it was gained inductively

from a set of particulars, and added to the end of them;
whereas Plato’s account is that the idea is prior to all the
particulars ; we do not obtain it inductively, we are reminded
of it, but we saw it before we were born. Another most
captious objection quite unworthy of the gravity of a philo-
sopher, Aristotle here adds; it is that ‘ Perhaps the idea of
good may be said to be distinguished from the number of

160 ESSAY III.

phenomenal goods by being eternal. But in short this is
no difference, the good is not any more good for this. Length
of duration does not constitute a distinction between identical
qualities. A white thing is not more white if it lasts long
than if it only lasts for a day.’ Perhaps this argument need
only be stated for its weakness to be seen. Plato would never
have consented to this confusion between length of duration
(πολυχρόνιον) and eternity (ἀΐδιον). It is true, that in popular
thinking we picture to ourselves the eternal under the form
of duration of time, but the philosophical conception of the
eternal is the necessary (causa sur), the absolute, the uncon-
ditional, the uncreate and indestructible (Zth. vi. iii. 2), that
which is out of all relation to time. Aristotle’s argument,
then, consists in setting the popular way of thinking against
the philosophical. He represents the idea to be a copy taken
from the particular and made lasting. Whereas Plato meant,
that without which we cannot know the particular or conceive
it to exist; that which is utterly independent of this or that
particular, though the particulars depend on it; that which is
independent of yesterday, or to-day, or a thousand years hence.

At this point of the discussion Aristotle seems to have
become conscious to himself (th. 1. vi. 8) that the Platonists
may complain of his attempting to disprove the unity of good
by always setting relative goods in opposition to those that
are good in themselves. He proposes then to take certain
specimens of things good in themselves, and to make these
the test of the theory. The specimens he adduces are
‘thought, sight, and some pleasures and honours’; he adds
that ‘If these be not esteemed goods in themselves, nothing
else but the pure Idea will remain to be called a good in itself;
thus the Idea as a universal or class will lose all its meaning,
having no individuals ranked under 1{. 5 The question then

6 Ἢ οὐδ᾽ ἄλλο οὐδὲν πλὴν τῆς ἰδέας; ὥστε μάταιον ἔσται Td εἶδος.

HIS CRITICISM OF THE ‘IDEA OF GOOD.’ 161

is, Do these goods, which are sought for their own sake,
exhibit the same, or different laws of good? To answer this
question would require a very deep and subtle investigation ;
this Aristotle does not enter upon, but he merely gives a
summary assertion that ‘The laws exhibited by honour,
thought, and pleasure, viewed as goods, are distinct and
different from one another. This appears to be mere dog-
matism and a trifling with the question. For we might urge
that honour is not properly speaking a good sought for its
own sake (cf. Eth. 1. v. 5), and that thought, sight, and plea-
sure, are all of them ἐνέργειαι and therefore do according to
the Aristotelian views exhibit the same law of good.
Aristotle winds up his polemic by assuming as concluded,
that there is no realistic unity in the good.’ He asks, ‘ What
is the account then of this one word good? It cannot surely
have arisen from a mere chance coincidence in language. It
must be either that all goods proceed from one source or
tend to one end—or rather that they are analogous to one
another.’ He substitutes then arbitrarily, without proof or
discussion (for he says these belong to metaphysics), a nominal-
istic theory for the realism of Plato. His view is apparently,
that men inductively from a set of similar particulars formed
the universal ‘ good,’ and by analogy, where cases were
analogous, came to extend the same term to dissimilar par-
ticulars. Plato’s view was that by experience of a particular
there is awakened in the mind the knowledge of a universal,
which existed there prior to the particular, and is the law of
the existence of that particular, and that by many different
particulars we ‘ are reminded’ of this same law or idea, and
that hence arises sameness of name® by reason of a sameness

7 Οὐκ ἔστιν ἄρα τὸ ἀγαθὸν κοινόν τι | συνωνύμων τοῖς εἴδεσιν. --- Ar. Meta-
κατὰ μίαν ἰδέαν. phys. 1. Vi. 3.
5. Κατὰ μέθεξιν εἶναι τὰ πολλὰ τῶν

M

162 ESSAY III.

of law under different relative circumstances and modifica-
tions. Realism makes the universal prior to and more real
than the particular. Nominalism makes the particulars more
real than the universal. Aristotle is by no means consistently
a nominalist, though here he avows a sort of nominalism for
the time. That he was not prepared with an answer to this
question as to the nature of good, that he did not lay it down
as the basis of his Ethics, is one indication amongst many of
the tentative and uncertain method with which he approached
the science.

The real difference between the metaphysical point of
view of Plato and of Aristotle, and between their respective
theories of cognition and existence, it would require a most
subtle discussion to set forth, and one which it is quite out of
the question at present to attempt. Their moral systems are
characterized in general by divergent tendencies, which might
be briefly summed up under the names synthetic and analytic.
One of the points in regard to which the analytic tendency
of Aristotle displays itself is his departure from Plato’s list of
the cardinal virtues. In his Polities® (1. xiii. 10) he approves
of the method of Gorgias, in enumerating the virtues in de-
tail, saying that ‘People deceive themselves by general defi-
nitions, as that virtue consists in a good condition of the soul,
or again in uprightness of action (ὀρθοπραγεῖν), or some such
thing.’ And in the same spirit he says (th. τι. vii. 1) that
‘ While general theories are of wider application’ (κοινότεροι,
see infra, the note on this passage), ‘those that go into
detail have more reality, since action consists in detail,’ &c.
Accordingly he proceeds to give a list of virtues which con-
tain an exemplification of his principle of Μεσότης. This
list does not appear formed on any scientific basis, it does not

" The allusion is to the Meno of Plato, p. 71.

ARISTOTLE’S DISSENT FROM PLATO. 163

start afresh with any new psychological classification. It
seems first to accept, in a way, the list of cardinal virtues,
placing courage and temperance in the front of its ranks,
reserving justice as being something peculiar, and dividing
wisdom into practical and speculative. It then adds to these,
different qualities, some of them sufficiently external, which
were held in honour among the Greeks. In this procedure
there is something which must be called empirical. Aristotle |
has two sides, the one speculative and profoundly penetrating |
and philosophic; the other side tending to the accumulation |
of details and of experience, regardless of a philosophic point
of view, content with a shallow system of classification. His
list, when formed, Aristotle seems to have believed in as
complete. The same is repeated in the Rhetoric (1. ix. 5)
with the omission of three here mentioned.
In Aristotle’s theory of justice, as far as we can judge of it,
there seems to be the same analytical reaction against Plato.
Aristotle appears to regard with dislike the attempt to reduce
all acts of justice to the manifestations of one general law,
harmony, or balance in the mind, so as to make justice, in
short, not different from virtue viewed as a whole. He wishes
to separate and distinguish from this justice, which is no other
than universal right, a distinct quality which shall deal with
property alone or all that can be estimated as property. The
way in which this subject is treated in the Eudemian book
(Eth. vy.) is very indistinct. Certain principles seem first laid
down for the regulation of justice in the state, principles
in short of Politics, Jurisprudence, and Political Economy.
Then, by some remarks on the voluntary and by some casuis-
tical problems, there is an apparent transition to consideration
of this quality as existent in the mind of the individual.
We cannot think that we have here Aristotle’s theory in its
entirety, any more than we should have his theory of pleasure

M 2

164 ESSAY III.

if we had only the Eudemian account in Book VII. to rely
upon. But the general bearings of the account of justice are
discernible, and amongst these is a polemic against Plato.
This is perhaps to be traced in the remark that ‘ It is only by
a sort of metaphor you can speak of justice in a man’s own
self between his higher and lower parts.’ (Eth. y. xi. 9.)

We have seen already the separation made by Aristotle
between Ethics and Metaphysics. The same of course holds
good of Theology, this being with Aristotle but another name
for Metaphysics. Practical theology was not a conception
that Aristotle could have admitted. His great divergence
from Plato on this head may be seen in the fact that while
Plato speaks of “ being made like to God, through becoming
just and holy, with thought and consciousness of the same’
(loc. cit., see above, p. 144), Aristotle, on the contrary, speaks
of moral virtue as being totally unworthy of the Gods (Zth. x.
vill. 7). If we compare Plato and Aristotle as to the tone in
which they write, it will appear that Aristotle is on the one
hand more human than Plato: this he shows in his respect for
the opinions of the multitude. He will not affirm that the
dead have no connexion with this life, because it would be
‘a hard doctrine and going against opinions too much’ (λίαν
ἄφιλον καὶ ταῖς δύξαις ἐναντίον. Eth. τ. xi. 1). He is totally
opposed to anything unnatural in life or institutions. And
he recognizes, with a sort of enthusiasm, the worth of moral
virtue,'° without the incessant demand which Plato made,
that this should be accompanied by philosophy. On the other
hand, Aristotle is less delicate and reverent than Plato in his
mode of speaking of human happiness, especially as attained
by the philosopher. In Plato there seems often, if not always,
present, a sense of the weakness of the individual as contrasted

0 Cf. Eth, τ. x. 12. Διαλάμπει τὸ | ἀνδρεῖος dying for a noble cause.—um1.
καλόν, said of the good man in mis- } ix. 4.
fortune. Cf. also the account of the

%

THE STYLE OF ARISTOTLE. 165

with the eternal and the divine. If Plato requires philosophy
to make morality, he also always infuses morality into philo-
sophy ; the philosopher in his pictures does not triumph over
the world, but rather is glad to seize on ‘some tradition’
‘like a stray plank,’ to prevent his being lost; he feels that
his philosophy on earth is but ‘knowing in part.’ Aristotle,
on the contrary, rather represents the strength than the
weakness of human nature. And in his picture of the happi-
ness of philosophy we cannot but feel that there is over much
elation, and something that requires toning down. In the
manner of the writing it is obvious that we miss the art, the
grace, the rich and delicate imagination of Plato. Above all,
we miss the subtle humour which plays round all the moral
phenomena. Aristotle does not show any trace of archness.
There are sayings in the Ethics which might cause a smile, .
but they are apparently given unconsciously, in illustration
of the point in question. In Eth. x. v. 8, to show that the
different creatures have each their different proper pleasures,
Aristotle quotes from Heraclitus the saying that ‘ An ass
likes hay better than gold,’ without any sense of anything
ludicrous in the illustration. The same thing occurs in one
of the Eudemian books (vil. vi. 2), where it is mentioned to
illustrate the hereditariness of hot temper, that ‘ A father
being kicked out by his son, begged him to stop at the door,
for he said he had kicked his father as far as that.’ This is
mentioned with perfect gravity among a list of arguments.
Aristotle’s rich and manifold knowledge of human nature
exhibits itself in his Hthics. It might be doubted whether
Plato would have written the masterly analytic account of
the various virtues in Books III. and IV. These are not
living dramatic portraits such as Plato would have made,
there is nothing personal or dramatic about them ; but they
are a wonderful catalogue and analysis of very subtle charac-
teristics.

166 ESSAY III.

Before quitting Plato, it may be well to mention two refe-
rences made to him in the Ethics of Aristotle, each for different
‘ Plato
rightly used to doubt and question whether the course were
from principles or to principles, as in the stadium whether
from the judges to the goal, or reversely.’

reasons worth notice. The first occurs Hth. 1. iv. 5.

There is no
passage in the extant dialogues of Plato corresponding to
Hence it has been believed that the oral
philosophy of Plato is here referred to, and this the use of the
But the metaphor
here given is something definite, and probably belonged to
Plato himself. This leads then to the conclusion, that Plato
in speaking was accustomed to use the same imaginative

this reference.

imperfect tense would seem to favour.

illustrations as in his writings. The other reference occurs
Eth. τι. iii. 2. ‘One ought to be well trained from youth up,
as Plato says, to feel pleasure and pain at the right objects.’
It contains
a doctrine quite in accordance with Aristotle’s own, but, at
the same time, at variance with the view maintained in other
dialogues of Plato. It gives a dogmatic theory of the incul-
cation of virtue, of the relation of nature to instruction, and

The passage alluded to is in the Laws, p. 653A."

of true education consisting in the learning to feel pleasure
This then is a departure from the tentative
uncertain attitude of the Meno. It is in harmony with the
popular point of view, and much in the tone which Aristotle
might himself have adopted. The peculiarity is that the
genuineness of the dialogue called the Laws has been gravely

and pain aright.

Aéyw τοίνυν τῶν παίδων παιδικὴν
εἶναι πρώτην αἴσθησιν ἡδονὴν καὶ λύπην,
καὶ ἐν οἷς ἀρετὴ ψυχῇ καὶ κακία παρα-
γίγνεται πρῶτον, ταῦτ᾽ εἶναι.---παιδείαν
δὴ λέγω τὴν παραγιγνομένην πρῶτον
παισὶν ἀρετήν, ἡδονὴ δὲ καὶ φιλία καὶ
λύπη καὶ μῖσος ἂν ὀρθῶς ἐν ψυχαῖς ἐγ-
γίγνωνται μήπω δυναμένων λόγῳ λαμ-
βάνειν, λαβόντων δὲ τὸν λόγον συμφω-

νήσωσι τῷ λόγῳ, ὀρθῶς εἰθίσθαι ὑπὸ τῶν
προσηκόντων ἐθῶν αὐτῆς θ᾽ ἣ συμφωνία
ξύμπασα μὲν ἀρετή, τὸ δὲ περὶ τὰς ἡδονὰς
καὶ λύπας τεθραμμένον αὐτῆς ὀρθῶς,
ὥστε μισεῖν μὲν ἃ χρὴ μισεῖν εὐθὺς ἐξ
ἀρχῆς μέχρι τέλους, στέργειν δὲ ἃ χρὴ
στέργειν, τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ ἀποτεμὼν τῷ λόγῳ
καὶ παιδείαν προσαγορεύων κατά γε τὴν
"why ὀρθῶς ἂν προσαγορεύοις,

THE LAWS OF PLATO. 167

called in question. The reasons for doubting it are (1) The
ἃ priori improbability of Plato’s taking the trouble to com-
pose so long a work, which is to a great degree a repetition
of the Republic. (2) The inferiority of style. (3) The
abandonment of all that is essential in Plato’s point of view.
Polytheistic theology and Pythagorean notions are substi-
tuted for Plato’s doctrine of Ideas. And, as in the place
alluded to, a merely practical view of morals seems to be
taken. We may ask, does all this denote a change in Plato’s
mind, or is his name forged, and have his views been garbled
by his school?

Perhaps the strongest argument for considering the dialogue
to be genuine is that it is quoted by Aristotle as Plato’s;
and not only quoted, but also criticized at length in the
Politics (τι. vi.), and compared with the Republic. Against
this may be set the fact that Aristotle also quotes the
Menexenus, which is of still more doubtful genuineness.
Also, literary criticism was no part of his métiver. Also, he
was absent from Athens during thirteen years after the death
of Plato. In the interval the Laws must have appeared, for
even the testimony of antiquity makes it posthumous. On
the whole, perhaps, the balance of probabilities may lead us

‘to consider that the Laws stands nearly in the same relation
to Plato’s Republic, as the Eudemian Ethics to Aristotle’s
moral system ; that is, that it contains much which is actually
Plato’s, the whole unskilfully filled up and put together, and
the point of view being slightly altered. Partly, then, it may
be said to represent a certain degree of change in Plato’s
mind at the last, and partly also certain tendencies in the
Academic school, who seem to have taken a practical direc-
tion, and also more and more to have given themselves up to
Pythagorean forms of thought. ,

The chief of these Platonists was Speusippus, nephew to
Plato himself, and successor to him in the leadership of the

168 ESSAY ΠῚ.

Academy. One of the Pythagoreizing opinions of Speusippus
is alluded to by Aristotle, Eth. 1. vi. 7. ‘The Pythagorean
theory on the subject seems more plausible, which places
unity in the rank of the goods; to which theory Speusippus
too seems to have given in his adhesion.’ The question
adverted to is the identity of ‘the One’ with ‘the Good.’
The Pythagoreans appear to have placed ‘the One’ among
the various exhibitions of good, whether as causes or mani-
festations. Among the Platonists, as we are told (Metaphys.
xu. iv. 6-8), there arose a difference, a section of them identi-
fying ‘the One’ with ‘the Good,’ the others not considering
unity identical with, but an essential element of goodness.
They saw that if ‘the One’ be identified with ‘the Good,’ it
must follow that multeity, or, in other words, matter, must be
the principle of evil. To avoid making ‘the many’ identical
with evil, they found themselves forced to abandon the iden-
tification of ‘the One’ with ‘the Good.’ Of this section
Speusippus was leader. He seems to have adopted a Pytha-
gorean formula, saying, that ‘ the One must be ranked among
goods.’ Aristotle gives a sort of provisional preference to
this theory over the system of Plato. Elsewhere, however
(Metaphys. x1. vii. 10), he attacks and refutes the view of
‘the Pythagoreans and Speusippus,’ that ‘Good is rather a
result of existence than the cause of it, as the flower is the
result of the plant.’

In morals, Speusippus seems to have continued the argu-
ments begun by Plato, against the Hedonistic theory of -
Aristippus. In the list of his works given by Diogenes,'? the
following are mentioned—zepi ἡδονῆς d. Ἀρίστιππος d. His
polemic appears to have been one-sided, and his views
extreme. One of his arguments on the subject of pleasure
is alluded to by Aristotle, Hth. x. ii. 5, and expressly men-

12 Also he seems to have written on Justice, The Citizen, Legislation, and
Philosophy.

THE PLATONISTS. 169

tioned with his name by Eudemus, vil. xiii. 1. It seems
very probable that other arguments against pleasure, which
are refuted by Aristotle and Eudemus, may have occurred in
the treatise on Pleasure written by Speusippus. Another
Platonist, with exactly opposite views on pleasure, was
Eudoxus. Of him hardly anything is known. He appears
to have been an astronomer, and his personal character is
highly praised by Aristotle, Hth. x. ii. 1.

Out of the school of Plato, Aristotle appears to have had a
close personal friend, namely, Xenocrates, who accompanied
him to Atarneus, on the death of Plato. He wasa voluminous
writer, and seems to have endeavoured to carry out the system
of Plato on particular points, and to give it a more practical
direction. Besides many treatises on dialectic, the Ideas,
science, genera and species, divisions, thought, nature, the
gods, &c., Diogenes also attributes to him two books on
Happiness, two on Virtue, one on the State, one on the Power
of the Law, &c. The ancients ascribed to him a high moral
tone of thought, saying that he considered virtue as alone
valuable in itself. He seems, however, to have allowed the
existence of a δύναμις ὑπηρετική in external fortune, which is,
perhaps, alluded to by Aristotle.!? His disciples, Polemo and
Crantor, appear to have had almost exclusively an ethical
direction. We must regret the loss of the writings of these
early Academics, for we should, no doubt, find common to
them much that is to be found in the system of Aristotle. A
- great work is always the creature of its times, and it is only
by knowing those times that we can know it fully or judge it
aright. And yet, on the whole, none of the Platonists appears
individually to have been of sufficient importance to have
greatly influenced Aristotle either in the way of communica~
tion or of antagonism.

13 Ἕτεροι δὲ καὶ τὴν ἐκτὸς εὐετηρίαν cvpmapadrauBdvovow.—Lth. τ. viii. 6,

ESSAY IV.

anes
On the Philosophical Forms in the Ethics of Aristotle.

HE shade of Plato, we have observed, might have admired

in the Ethics of Aristotle the advance of philosophy.
This advance was twofold: on the one hand material, con-
sisting in a rapid accumulation of experience and the carrying
out of analysis in all directions; on the other hand it was
formal, consisting in a new and more definite terminology,
and the forms, categories, or leading ideas, upon which science
was now made to depend. No account of the Ethics would
be complete without some examination of what is most
exclusively Aristotelian, not only in the material ideas which
are interwoven with the subject, namely, those views of
nature, the Deity, and the human soul, which to some extent
pervade it; but also in the forms of thought on which the
system is constructed, and which might be said to constitute
the warp of the entire texture. Let us, then, first consider
the formal element of this philosophy, leaving for a future
Essay some notice of the physical and theological views of
Aristotle, in so far as they influence his moral theories. The
forms of thought which Aristotle worked out for himself are
the most remarkable feature of his system ; he applied them
to all subjects, and to a great extent has left them stamped
on language ever since. Besides the host of logical formule,
which before Aristotle had no definite existence, the most
universal of his leading ideas may be said to have been the
doctrine of the four causes, and the opposition of δύναμις and
ἐνέργεια. These forms we find repeatedly occurring in the

ARISTOTLE’S FORMS OF THOUGHT. 171

pages of the ethical treatise, and the more deeply we study it,
the more we become aware that these are not mere modes of
expression, but that in truth they constitute most important
points of view in the analysis of human life and action.
Another peculiarity has to be noticed, and that is, that these
metaphysical ideas are re-acted on and changed by being
brought into Ethics. Τέλος and ἐνέργεια are no longer mere
abstractions, but are full of moral meaning. Unless we
understand the philosophical bearing and the purport of these
conceptions, not only will many a sentence of Aristotle remain
for us written in an absolutely unknown language, but also it
will be hopeless and out of the question to think of compre-
hending his moral system as a whole. To the above-
mentioned, we may add some consideration of the doctrine of
Μεσότης, as containing in itself an application to ethical sub-
jects of a more general philosophical formula, and if we
subjoin to these some account of the ‘ Practical Syllogism,’
as it appears in Books VI. and VII., we shall be able to see
how what was begun by Aristotle in these matters was carried
out further by the Peripatetic school.

I. Aristotle’s doctrine of the four causes arose probably
from a combination and modification of conceptions which
occur separately in Plato, namely, the contrast of matter and
form, of means and end, of production and existence. Every
individual object might be said to be the meeting-point of
these oppositions; it is what it is by reason of the matter out
of which it has sprung, the motive cause which gave it birth,
the idea or form which it realizes, the end or object which it
was intended to attain. Thus knowledge of anything implies
knowing it from these four points of view, or knowing its
four causes. The End or final cause, however, as is natural,
rises to an eminence beyond the other conceptions, and
though it must always stand opposed to matter, it tends to

172 ESSAY IV.

merge the other two causes into itself. The end of anything,
that for sake of which anything exists, can hardly be separated
from the perfection of that thing, from its idea and form;
thus the formal cause or definition becomes absorbed into the
final cause (opi{etas yap ἕκαστον τῷ τέλει, Eth. 11. vii. 6).

In the same way the End mixes itself up with the efficient
cause, the desire for the end gives the first impulse of motion,
the final cause of anything becomes identical with the good
of that thing, so that the end and the good become synonym-
ous terms. And this is not only the case with regard to in-
dividual objects, but all nature and the whole world exist for
the sake of, and in dependence on, their final cause, which is
the good. This, existing as an object of contemplation and
desire, though itself immovable, moves all things.! And so
the world is rendered finite, for all nature desiring the good
and tending towards an end is harmonized and united.

In this way is the unity of nature conceived by Aristotle,
it isa unity of idea. The idea of the Good as final cause
pervades the world, and the world is suspended from it. In
the same form this ethical philosophy presents itself. Human
life and action are rendered finite by being directed to their
end or final cause, the good attainable in action. The ques-
tion of the Ethics is, Τί ἐστι τὸ τῶν πρακτῶν τέλος; | And we
might say, altering the words quoted from the Metaphysics
—From this principle, from the End of action, the whole of
human life is suspended.

An end or final cause implies intelligence, implies a mind
to see and desire it. The appearance of ends and means in

‘nature is a proof of design in the operations of nature, and
this Aristotle distinctly recognizes (Nat. Ause. τι. viii.). When

1 Κινεῖ δὲ ὧδε" τὸ ὀρεκτὸν καὶ τὸ | abrns ἄρα ἀρχῆς ἤρτηται ὃ odpayds καὶ

ἡ φύσιο.--- Μοίαρῆ, x1. vii. 2-6.

νοητὸν κινεῖ οὐ κινούμενα.---- Ἐκ τοι-

THE DOCTRINE OF THE END-IN-ITSELF. 173

we come to Ethics, What is meant by an End of human action?
For whom is this an end? [5 it an end fixed by a higher in-
telligence? In short, is the principle of Aristotle the same
as the religious principle, that man is born to work out the
purposes of his Maker? To this it must be answered, that
Aristotle is indefinite in his physical theory as to the relation
of God to the design exhibited in creation. And so, too, he
is not explicit, in the Ethics, as to God’s moral government
of the world. On the whole, we may say at present that
‘moral government,’ in our sense of the words, does not at
all form part of Aristotle’s system. His point of view rather
is, that as physical things strive all, though unconsciously,
after the good attainable by them under their several limita-
tions, so man may consciously strive after the good attainable
in life. We do not find in the Ethics the expression τέλοϑ᾽
τοῦ ἀνθρώπου, but τῶν πρακτῶν τέλος (1. Vii. 8), τῶν ἀνθρω--
πίνων τέλος (Χ. Vi. 1), τὸ ἀνθρώπινον ἀγαθόν (I. xiii. 5). It is
best, therefore, to exclude religious associations (as being un-
Aristotelian) from our conception of the ethical τέλος, and
then we may be free to acknowledge that it is evidently
meant to have a definite relation to the nature and constitu-
tion of man. Thus Aristotle assumes that the desires of man
are so framed as to imply the existence of this τέλος (th. 1.
ii. r). And he asserts that man can only realize it in the

sphere of his own proper functions (ἐν τῷ ἔργῳ τοῦ ἀνθρώπου,
1 vii 10), and in accordance with the law of his proper
“nature and its harmonious development (κατὰ τὴν οἰκείαν
ἀρετήν, 1. Vii. 15).

Is man, then, according to this system, to be regarded
similarly to one of the flowers of the field, which obeying the
law of its organization springs and blooms and attains its own
peculiar perfection? This is no doubt one side, so to speak,
of Aristotle’s view. But there is also another side. For,

174 ESSAY IV.

while each part of the creation realizes its proper end, and,
in the language of the Bible, ‘is very good,’ this end exists
not for the inanimate or unconscious creatures themselves, it
only exists in them. But the ethical τέλος not only exists
m man, but also for man; not only is the good realized in
him, but it is recognized by him as such; it is the end not
only of his nature, but also of his desires; it stands before
his thoughts and wishes and highest consciousness as the ab-
solute, that in which he can rest, that which is in and for
itself desirable (ἁπλῶς δὴ τέλειον TO καθ᾽ αὑτὸ αἱρετὸν del, 1.
vii. 4). The ends of physical things are for other minds to
contemplate, they are ends objectively. But ends of moral
beings are ends subjectively, realized by and contemplated
by those moral beings themselves. The final cause, then, in
Ethics, is viewed, so to speak, from the inside. Or rather the
peculiarity is, that the objective and subjective sides of the
conception both have their weight in Aristotle’s system, and
are run into one another. The τέλος τῶν πρακτῶν, or abso-
lute end of action, has two forms, which are not clearly sepa-
rated; in the first place it is represented subjectively as
happiness, and in the second place objectively as the right.
It has been said that the ancient Ethical systems were
theories of the chief good, rather than theories of duty. —
And Kant brings against Aristotle the charge that his sys-
tem is one of mere eudemonism. We shall have an oppor-
tunity in a future Essay of touching upon the relations of
this conception ‘duty’ to the ancient systems. At present
it will suffice to show that there is some unfairness in the
charge brought by Kant, and that it ignores the true charac-
teristics of Aristotle’s Ethical doctrine. It is unfair to charge
Aristotle with mere ‘eudemonism’ simply on account of his
making a definition of ‘happiness’ the leading principle of
his Ethics. This word ‘happiness’ is only a popular way of

THE DOCTRINE OF THE END-IN-ITSELF. 175

statement; Aristotle tells us that it is the popular word for
the chief good (Hth. 1. iv. 2). Again, during his whole dis-
cussion on the virtues, and on moral actions, there is no men-
tion of happiness as connected with these, as if good acts were
to be done for the sake of happiness. . There is only one place,
and that is in the discussion on happiness itself, where he
speaks of it as ‘The end and prize of virtue.’? Elsewhere he
speaks of ‘the beautiful’ as being the end of virtue? But
again the ‘ happiness’ which Aristotle defines as the chief good
does not seem immediately, but only inferentially, to imply
pleasure. Pleasure (as we shall see hereafter) is rather
argued and proved to belong to happiness by a sort of after-
thought, and is not with Aristotle a primary part of the con-
ception. Happiness with Aristotle is something different
from what we mean by it; so from this point of view, above ’
all, the charge of eudemonism falls to the ground.
Aristotle’s question is, What is the chief good for man ?
But this he resolves into another form, What is the τέλειον
τέλος ἢ What in human life and action is the End-in-itself?
How deep is the moral significance of this conception—the
absolute end! Can anything small or frivolous, or anything
like mere pleasure and enjoyment come up to its require-
ments, and appear in the deepest depths of the human con-
sciousness to be something beyond which we cannot go—the
absolute satisfaction of our nature? Essentially and neces-
sarily, that only can be called a τέλος which has in itself a
‘moral worth and goodness. This also Aristotle says ‘has a
sweetness and pleasure of its own, but one quite different
from that which springs from any other sources. Men rarely
attain to it; but desiring the satisfaction it affords, they seize
in its place the pleasure derived from amusements, on account

2 πὸ τῆς ἀρετῆς ἄθλον καὶ TéAos.— 8 Τοῦ καλοῦ ἕνεκα, τοῦτο γὰρ τέλος
Eth. 1. ix. 3. τῆς ἀρετῆς.--- ἰδ, ur vii. 2.

176 ESSAY IV.

of this latter having some sort of resemblance to the satisfac- .
tion which the mind feels in moral acts which are of the
nature of an end.’ 4

The deep moral pleasure which attaches to noble acts,
Aristotle describes as triumphing even over the physical pain
and outward horrors which may attend the exercise of courage.”
And he acknowledges that in many cases this may be the
only pleasure attending upon virtuous actions.®

We see in these passages how the objective and subjective
The end and the
consciousness of the end are not separated. In the pleasure

import of the τέλος are blended together.

which Aristotle speaks of as attaching to the moral τέλος we
see something that answers to what we should call ‘ the
approval of conscience.’ Only to say that Aristotle meant
this, would be to mix up things modern and ancient. It is
better to keep before us as clearly as possible his point of
view, which is, that a good action is an End-in-itself, as being
the perfection’ of our nature, and that for the sake of which
(οὗ ἕνεκα.) our moral faculties before existed, hence bringing
a pleasure and inward satisfaction with it; something in
which the mind can rest pleased and acquiescent ; something

4 Politics vit. Vv. 12. "Ev μὲν τῷ
τέλει συμβαίνει τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ὀλιγάκις
γίγνεσθαι... . Συμβέβηκε δὲ ποιεῖσθαι
τὰς παιδιὰς τέλος " ἔχει γὰρ ἴσως ἡδονήν
τινα καὶ τὸ τέλος, ἀλλ᾽ οὐ τὴν τυχοῦσαν "
ζητοῦντες δὲ ταύτην, λαμβάνουσιν ὡς
ταύτην ἐκείνην, διὰ τὸ τῷ τέλει τῶν
πράξεων ἔχειν ὁμοίωμά τι. Cf. Eth. x.
vi. 3-

5 Eth. τα. ix. 2. Οὐ phy ἀλλὰ δόξειεν
ἄν εἶναι τὸ κατὰ τὴν ἀνδρείαν τέλος ἡδύ,

6 Eth. ut. ix. δ. Οὐ δὴ ἐν ἁπάσαις
ταῖς ἀρεταῖς τὸ ἡδέως ἐνεργεῖν ὑπάρχει,
πλὴν ep ὅσον τοῦ τέλους ἐφάπτεται.

7 In another passage (Eth. m1. vii.
6), Aristotle seems to use the term

τέλος ina more purely objective sense
to denote perfection. He says, ‘The
τέλος of every individual moral act is
the same with that of the formed
moral character’ (τέλος δὲ πάσης évep-
yelas ἐστὶ τὸ κατὰ τὴν ἕξιν). The
whole passage is a difficult one; it
seems to come to this—An individual
act can only be said to have attained
perfection when it exhibits the same
qualities as the formed moral charac-
ter—e. g., a brave act is only perfectly
brave when it is done as a brave man
would do it, consciously for its own
sake, or for the sake of the noble
(καλοῦ ἕνεκα), &e.

THE DOCTRINE OF THE END-IN-ITSELF. 177

which possesses the qualities of being καλόν, ὡρισμένον, and
ἐνέργεια τελεία.

We observe how in the separate parts of life, in the deve-
lopment of each of the various faculties, Aristotle considers
an end to be attainable; how he attaches a supreme value to
particular acts, and idealizes the importance of the passing
moment; hew he attributes to each moment a capability of
being converted out of a mere means, and mere link in the
chain of life, to be an End-in-itself, something in which life is,
as it were, summed up. But if in action, and in an exercise
of the moral faculties, an end is attainable, this is, according
to the system of Aristotle, only faintly and imperfectly an
end, compared with what is attainable in contemplation by
the exercise of the philosophic thought.

In both senses of the word τέλος, both as perfection and as ἡ
happiness, Aristotle seems to have placed virtue below philo-
sophy. Philosophy is in the first place the highest human
excellence ; it is the development of the highest faculty.* In
the second place, it contains the most absolute satisfaction, it
is most entirely desirable for its own sake, and not as a means
to anything else.® Whereas the practical virtues are all in
a sense means to this. Courage is for war, which is for the
sake of the fruition of peace; and in what does this consist ?
If the practical side of our nature be summed up in the one
faculty wisdom (φρόνησις), this may be regarded after all as
subordinate and instrumental to philosophy codia), the per-
fection of the speculative side.!° So too in Politics, the end,
or in other words the. highest perfection and the highest
happiness, being identical for the state and the individual, in

λ

8 Eth, x. vii.t. Ei δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἣ εὐδαι- ® Eth, x. vii. §. δόξαι τ᾽ ἂν αὐτὴ
povia κατ᾽ ἀρετὴν ἐνέργεια, εὔλογον μόνη δι’ αὑτὴν ἀγαπᾶσθαι.
κατὰ τὴν κρατίστην" αὕτη δ᾽ ἂν εἴη τοῦ 0 Eth, vi. xiii. 8. Ἐκείνης οὖν ἕνεκα
ἀρίστου, K.T.A. ἐπιτάττει, ἀλλ᾽ οὐκ ἐκείνῃ.

Ν

178 ESSAY IV.

what is this constituted? Not in the busy and restless action
of war or diplomacy, not in means and measures to some
ulterior result, but in those thoughts and contemplations
Philo-
sophy, therefore, and speculation are, according to Aristotle,
the end not only of the individual, but also of the state."
‘If it be true to say, that happiness consists in doing well,
a life of action must be best both for the state, and for the
individual.

which find their end and satisfaction in themselves.

But we need not, as some do, suppose that a
life of action implies relation to others, or that those only are
active thoughts which are concerned with the results of action ;
but far rather we must consider those speculations and thoughts
to be so which have their end in themselves, and which are
for their own sake.’

A moment of contemplative thought (θεωρητικὴ ἐνέργειαν is
most perfectly and absolutely an end. It is sought for no
result but for itself. It is a state of peace, which is the crown
It is the
realization of the divine in man, and constitutes the most

of all exertion (ἀσχολούμεθα ἵνα σχολάζωμεν).

absolute and all-sufficient happiness,’® being, ‘as far as pos-
sible in human things, independent of external circum-
stances.!8 ;

This then constitutes the most adequate answer to the
great question of Ethics, What is the chief good? or Τί ἐστε
τὸ τῶν πρακτῶν Tédos; as far as a separate and individual
moment of life is concerned. But a difficulty suggests itself

1 Pol, vu. 111. 7. ᾿Αλλ᾽ εἰ ταῦτα
λέγεται καλῶς καὶ τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν
εὐπραγίαν θετέον, καὶ κοινῇ πάσης
πόλεως ἂν εἴη καὶ καθ᾽ ἕκαστον ἄριστος
βίος ὁ πρακτικός. ᾿Αλλὰ τὸν πρακτικὸν
οὐκ ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι πρὸς ἑτέρους, καθά-
περ οἴονταί τινες, οὐδὲ τὰς διανοίας εἶναι
μόνας ταύτας πρακτικὰς τὰς τῶν ἀπο-
βαινόντων χάριν γιγνομένας ἐκ τοῦ πράτ-

τειν, ἀλλὰ πολὺ μᾶλλον τὰς αὐτοτέλεις
καὶ τὰς αὑτῶν ἕνεκεν θεωρίας καὶ δια-
νοήσεις.

1. Eth. x. viii. 7. ἫἩ τελεία εὐδαι-
μονία θεωρητική τίς ἐστιν ἐνέργεια,

18 Eth. x. vii. 4. Ἥ τε λεγομένη
αὐτάρκεια περὶ τὴν θεωρητικὴν μάλιστ᾽
ἂν εἴη.

THE DOCTRINE OF THE END-IN-ITSELF. 179

with regard to life viewed as a whole. ‘ Philosophic thought,’
says Aristotle, ‘ will be absolutely perfect happiness if extended
over a whole life. For in happiness there must be no short-
coming.’'* But, as we shall see more clearly with regard to
ἐνέργεια, it cannot actually be so extended. What then is
the result? If Aristotle accepts the absolute satisfaction and
worth of a moment as the end of life, his principle becomes
identical with the μονόχρονος ἡδονή of the Cyrenaics (see
above, p. 132). If, again, he requires an absolute τέλος of
permanent duration, his theory of human good becomes a
mere ideal. Here then is a dilemma between the horns of
which Aristotle endeavours to steer, on the one hand acknow-
ledging (th. τ. vii. 16), that “Α single swallow will not make
a summer’; on the other hand urging objections against the
saying of Solon (Hth. 1. x.), that ‘No man can be called’
happy as long as he lives.’ He says the chief good must be
ἐν βίῳ τελείῳ, not a perfect life, but i ὦ perfect life—indi-
cating by this expression that the absolute good, as it exists
in and for the consciousness, is independent of time and dura-
tion; but still, as we belong to a world of time and space, that
this inner supreme good must have its setting in an adequate
complete sphere of external circumstances. About this word
τελείῳ there is an ambiguity of which probably Aristotle,
himself, was half conscious; its associations of meaning are
twofold, the one popular, conveying the notion of the ‘ com-

plete,’ the ‘perfect,’ the other philosophic, implying that which
is in itself desirable, that in which the mind finds satisfaction,
the absolute. Taking a signification between the two, we
may conceive Aristotle to have meant, that the chief good
must be an absolute mode of the consciousness, and that this

14 Ἢ τελεία δὴ εὐδαιμονία αὕτη ἂν | Actov’ οὐδὲν yap ἀτελές ἐστι τῶν τῆς
εἴη ἀνθρώπου, λαβοῦσα μῆκος βίου τέ- | εὐδαιμονίας, Eth. x. vii. 7.
N 2

180 ESSAY IV.

must be attained in a sphere of outward circumstances them-
selves partaking of the nature of absolute perfection. Aris-
totle’s conception, then, of the chief good has two sides, the
one internal, ideal, out of all relation to time, which speaks of
the happiness as the absolute good, that end which is the sum
of all means, that which could not possibly be improved by
any addition (Hth. τ. vii. 8); the other side, which is external
and practical, goes quite against the Cyrenaic principle of
regarding the present as all in all, and also against the Cynic
view which would set the mind above external circumstances
(Eth. 1. v. 6); this part of the theory considers happiness as
compounded of various more or less essential elements, and
shows how far the more essential parts (τὰ κύρια τῆς εὐδαι--
povias) can outbalance the less essential. It requires per-
manence of duration, but it looks for this in the stability of
the formed mental state, which is always tending to reproduce
moments of absolute worth.

The End-in-itself renders life a rounded whole, like a work
of art, or a product of nature. The knowledge of it is to give
definiteness to the aims, ‘ So that we shall be now like archers
knowing what to shoot at’ (Eth. τ. ii. 2). In the realization
of it, we are to feel- that there need be no more reaching -
onwards towards infinity, for all the desires and powers will
have found their satisfaction (Hth. τ. ii. 1). Closely connected
then is this system with the view that what is finite is good,
‘ Life,’ says Aristotle, ‘is a good to the good man, because
it is finite’ (Hth. 1x. ix. 7). At first sight these sayings
suggest the idea of a cramped and limited theory of life, as
if all were made round and artistic, and no room were left for
the aspirations of the soul. It must be remembered, how-
ever, that that which is here spoken of as making life finite,
is itself the absolute,—that, above and beyond the outside of
which the mind can conceive nothing. And this absolute

THE DOCTRINE OF ’ENEPIEIA. 181

end is yet further represented as the deepest moments either
of the moral consciousness, or of that philosophic reason
which is an approach to the nature of the divine being. It
must be remembered .also that ‘the finite’ (τὸ ὡρισμένον)
does not mean ‘ the restricted,’ as if expressing that in which
limits have been put upon the possibilities of good, but rather
the good itself. Good and even existence cannot be con-
ceived except under a law, and the finite is with Aristotle an
essentially positive idea. Only so much negation enters into
it as is necessary to constitute definiteness and form in con-~
tradistinction to the chaotic. Truly we cannot in our concep-
tions pass out of the human mind; that which is absolute
and an end for the mind cannot be a mere limited and re-
stricted conception; but rather nothing can be conceived
beyond it. Something might be said on the relation of the
Ethical τέλος to the idea of a future life, but this can be
better said hereafter.

II. ‘ Actuality’ is perhaps the nearest philosophical repre-
sentative of the ἐνέργεια of Aristotle. It is derived from it
through the Latin of the Schoolmen, ‘ actus’ being their trans-
lation of ἐνέργεια, out of which the longer and more abstract
form has grown. ‘The word ‘energy,’ which comes more
directly from ἐνέργεια, has ceased to convey the philosophical
meaning of its original, being restricted to the notion of force
and vigour. The employment of the term ‘energy,’ as a
translation of ἐνέργεια, has been a material hindrance to the
proper understanding of Aristotle. This is especially the case
with regard to the Hthics, where there is an appearance of
plausibility, though an utterly fallacious one, in such a trans-
lation. To substitute ‘ actuality” in the place of ‘energy’
would certainly have this advantage, that it would point to
the metaphysical conception lying at the root of all the
various applications of ἐνέργεια. But ‘actuality’ is a word

182 ESSAY IV.

with far too little flexibility to be adapted for expressing all
these various applications. No conception equally plastic
with ἐνέργεια, and at all answering to it, can be found in
And therefore there is no term which will
uniformly translate it. Our only course can be, first to en-
deavour to understand its philosophical meaning as part of
Aristotle’s system, and secondly to notice its special applica-
tions in a book like the Ethics. Any rendering of its import
in the various places where it occurs must be rather of the

modern thought.

nature of paraphrase than of translation.

’Evépyeva is not more accurately defined by Aristotle, than
He implies, that
we must rather feel its meaning than seek to define it.

as the correlative and opposite of δύναμιν.

‘ Actuality’ may be in various ways opposed to ‘ potentiality,’
and the import of the conception depends entirely on their
relation to each other.!® ‘ Now ἐνέργεια is the existence of a
thing not in the sense of its potentially existing. The term
‘ potentially ’ we use, for instance, of the statue in the block,
and of the half in the whole, (since it might be subtracted,)
and of a person knowing a thing, even when he is not think-
ing of it, but might do so; whereas ἐνέργεια is the opposite.
By applying the various instances our meaning will be plain, —
and one must not seek a definition in each case, but rather

15 Metaphys. vit. vi. 2. Ἔστι δ᾽ ἡ
ἐνέργεια τὸ ὑπάρχειν τὸ πρᾶγμα, μὴ οὕ-
tws ὥσπερ λέγομεν δυνάμει. Λέγομεν
δὲ δυνάμει, οἷον, ἐν τῷ ξύλῳ Ἑρμῆν καὶ
ἐν τῇ ὅλῃ τὴν ἡμίσειαν, ὅτι ἀφαιρεθείη
ἂν, καὶ ἐπιστήμονα καὶ τὸν μὴ θεωροῦντα,
ἐὰν δυνατὸς ἢ θεωρῆσαι" τὸ δὲ ἐνεργείᾳ"
δῆλον δ᾽ ἐπὶ τῶν καθ᾽ ἕκαστα τῇ ἐπαγωγῇ,
ὃ βουλόμεθα λέγειν, καὶ οὐ δεῖ παντὸς ὅρον
ζητεῖν, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸ ἀνάλογον συνορᾷν
---ὅτι ὡς τὸ οἰκοδομοῦν πρὸς τὸ οἰκοδομι-
kdv, καὶ τὸ ἐγρηγορὸς πρὸς τὸ καθεῦδον,

καὶ τὸ ὁρῶν πρὸς τὸ μύον μὲν, ὄψιν δὲ
ἔχον, καὶ τὸ ἀποκεκριμένον ἐκ τῇς ὕλης
πρὸς τὴν ὕλην, καὶ τὸ ἀπειργασμένον
πρὸς τὸ ἀνέργαστον. Ταύτης δὲ τῆς
διαφορᾶς θάτερον μόριον ἔστω ἡ ἐνέργεια
ἀφωρισμένη, θατέρῳ δὲ τὸ δυνατόν.
Λέγεται δὲ ἐνεργείᾳ οὗ πάντα ὁμοίως,
ἀλλ᾽ ἢ τὸ ἀνάλογον, ὧς τοῦτο ἐν τούτῳ
ἢ πρὸς τοῦτο, τὸ 8 ἐν τῷδε ἢ πρὸς
τόδε" τὰ μὲν γὰρ ὡς κίνησις πρὸς δύνα-
μιν, τὰ δ᾽ ὡς οὐσία πρός τινα ὕλην.

THE DOCTRINE OF ’ENEPYIEIA. 183

grasp the conception of the analogy as a whole,—that it is
as that which builds to that which has the capacity for build-
ing; as the waking to the sleeping; as that which sees to
that which has sight, but whose eyes are closed; as the
definite form to the shapeless matter; as the complete to the
unaccomplished. In this contrast, let the ἐνέργεια be set off
as forming the one side, and on the other let the potential
stand. Things are said to be ἐνεργείᾳ not always in like
manner, (except so far as there is an analogy, that as this
thing is in this, or related to this, so is that in that, or related
to that,) for sometimes it implies motion as opposed to the
capacity for motion, and sometimes complete existence op-
posed to undeveloped matter.’

The word ἐνέργεια does not occur in Plato, though the

opposition of the ‘ virtual’ and the ‘actual’ may be found:

implicitly contained in'® some parts of his writings. Perhaps
there is no genuine passage'” now extant of any writer pre-
It is the substantive
form of the adjective ἐνεργής which is to be found in Aristotle’s

vious to Aristotle in which it occurs.

Topics, 1.xii.1. But Aristotle, by a false etymology, seems to
connect it immediately with the words'* ἐν ἔργῳ. To all ap-

pearance the idea of its opposition to δύναμις was first suggested

by the Megarians, who asserted that ‘ Nothing could be said to |

have a capacity for doing any thing, unless it was in the act
of doing that thing.’

18 Cf. Metaphys. yur. viii. 11. Διὸ
καὶ τοὔνομα ἐνέργεια λέγεται κατὰ τὸ
ἔργον καὶ συντείνει πρὸς τὴν ἐντελέ-

16 Of, Theetetus, Ῥ. 157. Οὔτε γὰρ
ποιοῦν ἐστί τι, πρὶν ἂν τῷ πάσχοντι
ξυνέλθῃ, οὔτε πάσχον, πρὶν ἂν τῷ ποι-

οὔντι, κιτ.λ.

17 For the fragment of Philolaus,
apud Stob. Ecl. Phys. τ. xx. 2, is very
suspicious. It is as follows:—Aw καὶ
καλῶς ἔχει λέγειν κόσμον ἦμεν ἐνέργειαν
ἀΐδιον θεῷ τε καὶ γενέσιος κατὰ συνακο-
λουθίαν Tas μεταβλατικᾶς φύσιος.

χειων. Ξ

19\ Met. vit. iii. 1. Εἰσὶ δέ τινες οἵ
φασιν, οἷον of Μεγαρικοί, ὅταν ἐνεργῇ
μόνον δύνασθαι, ὅταν δὲ μὴ ἐνεργῇ οὐ
δύνασθαι, οἷον τὸν μὴ οἰκοδομοῦντα οὐ
δύνασθαι οἰκοδομεῖν.

This assertion itself was part of the

184 ESSAY IV.

dialectic of the Megarians, by which they endeavoured to
establish the Eleatic principles, and to prove by the subtleties
of the reason, against all evidence of the senses, that the
We

cannot be exactly certain of the terms employed by the

world is absolutely one, immovable, and unchangeable.

Megarians themselves in expressing the above-quoted posi-
tion, for Aristotle is never very accurate about the exact form
We
cannot be sure whether the Megarians said precisely ὅταν
But at all events they said something
equivalent, and Aristotle taking the suggestion worked out

in which he gives the*® opinions of earlier philosophers.
ἐνεργῇ μόνον δύνασθαι.

the whole theory of the contrast between δύναμις and ἐνέργεια;
in its almost universal applicability.

At first these terms were connected, apparently with the
idea of 3] motion. But since δύναμις has the double meaning
of ‘ possibility of existence’ as well as ‘capacity of action,’
there arose the double contrast of action opposed to the
capacity for action; actual existence opposed to possible
existence or potentiality. To express accurately this latter
opposition Aristotle seems to have introduced the term
ἐντελέχεια, of which the most natural account is, that it is
a compound of ἐν τέλει ἔχειν, ‘ being in the state of perfec-
tion,’ an adjective®® ἐντελεχής being constructed on the
analogy of vevveyys. But in fact this distinction between

ἐντελέχεια and ἐνέργεια 1559 not maintained. The former

2 Cf, Metaph. x1. ii. 3. Καὶ ὡς An- | κινήσεων μάλιστα, δοκεῖ γὰρ ἣ ἐνέργεια

μόκριτός φησιν, ἣν ὁμοῦ πάντα δυνάμει,
XI. vi. 7. Διὸ ἔνιοι
ποιοῦσιν ἀεὶ ἐνέργειαν, οἷον Λεύκιππος
καὶ Πλάτων. In these passages Ari-
stotle expresses the ideas of his pre-
decessors in his own formule.

21 Metaph. vu. iii. 9. "EAhAvOe δ᾽
ἡ ἐνέργεια τοὔνομα, ἣ πρὸς ἐντελέχειαν
συντιθεμένη καὶ ἐπὶ τὰ ἄλλα, ἐκ τῶν

, ? PA
ἐνεργείᾳ δ᾽ οὔ.

μάλιστα ἡἣ κίνησις εἶναι.

35 De Gen. et Corr. 1. X. 11. Suve-
πλήρωσε τὸ ὅλον ὃ θεὸς ἐντελεχῇ ποιή-
σας τὴν γένεσιν.

33 Οὗ Metaph. vin. i. 2. Ἐπὶ πλέον
γάρ ἐστιν ἣ δύναμις καὶ ἣ ἐνέργεια τῶν
μόνον λεγομένων κατὰ κίνησιν. Eth.
vil. xiv. 8. Οὐ γὰρ μόνον κινήσεώς ἔστιν
ἐνέργεια ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀκινησίας. Ἂ

THE DOCTRINE OF ’ENEPYEIA. 185

word is of comparatively rare occurrence, while we find
everywhere throughout Aristotle ἐνέργεια, as he says, mpos
ἐντελέχειαν συντιθεμένη ‘mixed up with the idea of complete
existence.’ As we saw above, it is contrasted with δύναμις,
sometimes as implying motion, sometimes as ‘ form opposed
to matter.’

In Physics δύναμις answers to the necessary conditions for
the existence of anything before that thing exists. It thus
corresponds to ὕλη, both to the πρώτη ὕλη, or matter abso-
lutely devoid of all qualities, which is capable of becoming
any definite substance, as, for instance, marble; and also to
the ἐσχάτη ὕλη, or matter capable of receiving form, as marble
the form of the statue. Marble then exists δυνάμει in the
simple elements before it is marble. The statue exists δυνάμει
in the marble before it is carved out. All objects of thought’
exist either purely δυνάμει, or purely ἐνεργείᾳ, or both δυνάμει
and ἐνεργείᾳ. This division makes an entire chain of all the
world. At the one end is matter, the πρώτη ὕλη, which has
a merely potential existence, which is necessary aS a condi-
tion, but which, having no form and no qualities, is totally
incapable of being realized by the mind. So it is also with
the infinitely small or great; they exist always as possibilities,
but, as is obvious, they never can be actually grasped by the
perception. At the other end of the chain is God, οὐσία
ἀΐδιος καὶ ἐνέργεια ἄνευ δυνάμεως, who cannot be thought of
_as non-existing,” as otherwise than actual, who is the abso-
lute, and the unconditioned. Between these two extremes is
the whole row of creatures, which out of potentiality spring
into actual being. In this theory we see the affinity between

-% It might be said that the being of | existence of God is an ἐνέργεια for His
God cannot be fully grasped or realized | own mind. He is above all, the in
by our minds; but, according to the | and for Himself existing.
views of Aristotle, the everlasting ;

186 ESSAY -IV.

δύναμις and matter, ἐνέργεια and form. Thus Aristotle’s con-
ceptions are made to run into one another. Another affinity
readily suggests itself, and that is between ἐνέργεια and τέλοϑ.
The progress from δύναμις to ἐνέργεια is motion or produc-
tion (κίνησις or yéveots). But this motion or production,
aiming at or tending to an end, is in itself imperfect (ἀτελής),
it is a mere process not in itself and for its own sake desirable.
And thus arises a contrast between κίνησις and ἐνέργεια, for
the latter, if it implies motion, is a motion desirable for its
own sake, having its end in itself. Viewed relatively, how-
ever, xivnots may sometimes be called ἐνέργεια. In reference
to the capacity of action before existing, the action calls out
into actuality that which was before only potential. Thus,
for instance, in the process of building a house there is an
ἐνέργεια of what was before the δύναμις οἰκοδομική. Viewed
however in reference to the house itself, this is a mere process
to the end aimed at, a yéveows, or if it be called ἐνέργεια, it
must strictly speaking be qualified as ἐνέργειά tis ἀτελής."
In short, just as the term τέλος is relatively applied to very
subordinate ends, so too ἐνέργεια is relatively applied to what
is from another point of view a mere yévecis or Kivnots.
This we find in Eth. 1. i. 2, διαφορὰ δέ τις φαίνεται τῶν τελῶν"
τὰ μὲν γάρ εἰσιν ἐνέργειαι, τὰ δὲ παρ᾽ αὐτὰς ἔργα τινά.

Having traced some of the leading features of this distine-
tion between δύναμις and ἐνέργεια, we may now proceed to
observe how this form of thought stamped itself upon Ethics.
We may ask, How is the category of the actual brought to
bear upon moral questions, and how far is it reacted upon by
moral associations ? At the very outset of Aristotle’s theory it
appears. As soon as the proposition has been laid down that
the chief good for man is only attainable in his proper work,

25 Metaph., x. ix. 11.

THE DOCTRINE OF ’ENEPIEIA. 187

and that this proper work is a peculiar kind of life, πρακτική
tis (ζωὴ) τοῦ λόγον ἔχοντος, Aristotle proceeds to assume
(θετέον) that this life must be no mere possession (καθ᾽ ἕξιν)
of certain powers and latent tendencies, but ‘ in actuality, for
He then
transforms the qualifying term κατ᾽ ἐνέργειαν into a substan-
tive idea, and makes it the chief part of his definition of the
supreme good.”” Thus the metaphysical category of ἐνέργεια,
which comes first into Ethics merely as a form of thought,
becomes henceforth material. It is identified with happi-
ness.”8

this is the distinctive form of the conception.’ 35

In short, it becomes an ethical idea.

In this connexion (like its cognate τέλος) ἐνέργεια becomes
at once something mental. It takes a subjective character, as
existing now both in and for the mind. Moreover, in an
exactly parallel way to the use of τέλος, it receives a double ἡ
application. On the one hand it is applied to express moral
action and the development of the moral powers, on the other
It is in its latter
meaning that ἐνέργεια is most purely subjective.

hand to happiness and the fruition of life.
Taken as a
formula to express Aristotle’s theory of virtue, we may con-
sider it as applied in its more objective and simpler sense,
though even here it is mixed up with psychological associa-
tions. We shall see how, under newly-invented metaphysical
forms, Aristotle accounts for the moral nature of man.
Aristotle divides δυνάμεις into physical and mental.” Of
these mental δυνάμεις it is characteristic that they are equally
capacities of producing contraries, while the physical are

36 Διττῶς δὲ καὶ ταύτης λεγομένης
τὴν κατ᾽ ἐνέργειαν θετέον" κυριώτερον
γὰρ αὕτη δοκεῖ λέγεσθαι. Eth, τ. vii. 13.

εὐδαιμονία ψυχῆς ἐνέργειά τις κατ᾽ ἂρε-
γὴν. ΚΟΥ 1. x. 2, IX. ix. ς, X. Vi. 2:
29. Metaph. vin. ii. 1. Ἐπεὶ δ᾽ αἱ μὲν

27 Bi δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἔργον ἀνθρώπου ψυχῆς
ἐνέργεια κατὰ λόγον, κ-τ.λ.---εἰ δ᾽ οὕτω
τὸ ἀνθρώπινον ἀγαθὸν ψυχῆς ἐνέργεια
γίνεται κατ᾽ ἀρετήν. 1.1. τ4,τς.

28 Eth, 1. xiii. 1. ᾿Ἐπεὶ δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἣ

ἐν τοῖς ἀψύχοις ἐνυπάρχουσιν ἀρχαὶ τοι-
αῦται, αἱ ® ἐν τοῖς ἐμψύχοις καὶ ἐν
ψυχῇ, καὶ τῆς ψυχῆς ἐν τῷ λόγον ἔχοντι,
δῆλον ὅτι καὶ τῶν δυνάμεων αἱ μὲν ἔσον-
ται ἄλογοι, αἱ δὲ μετὰ λόγου.

188 ESSAY IV.

restricted to one side of two contraries. The capacity of heat,
for instance, is capable of producing heat alone; whereas the
δύναμις ἰατρική, as being a mental capacity, and connected
with the discursive reason, can produce indifferently either
health or sickness. From this Aristotle deduces the first step
of the doctrine of free-will, namely, that the mind is not
bound by any physical necessity. For he argues that, given
the requisite active and passive conditions, there is a necessity
for a physical δύναμις to act or suffer in a particular way;

but since the mental δύναμις is equally a capacity of contraries,
if there were any necessity for its development, it must be

necessitated to produce contraries at the same time, which is
impossible. Therefore there must be some other influence
which controls the mental δύναμις, and determines into which
side of the two contraries it shall be developed, and this is
either desire or reasonable purpose.*® Connected with this
point is another of still greater importance for the ethical
theory. Not only in the use and exercise of a moral or mental
δύναμις is the individual above the control of mere external or
physical circumstances, but also the very acquirement of these
δυνάμεις depends on the individual. For the higher capacities
are not inherent, but acquired.

In considering how this can be, we may follow the logical
order of the question according to Aristotle, and ask which
exists first, the δύναμιϑ or the ἐνέργεια ῦ The answer is, that
as a conception, in point of thought (λόγῳ), the ἐνέργεια must
necessarily be prior; in short, we know nothing of the δύναμις,
except from our knowledge of the ἐνέργεια. In point of time
(χρόνῳν the case is different; each individual creature exists
first δυνάμει, afterwards ἐνεργείᾳ. This assertion, however,
must be confined to each individual; for, as a necessity of

30 ᾿Ανάγκη ἄρα ἕτερόν τι εἶναι τὸ κύριον. Λέγω δὲ τοῦτο ὄρεξιν ἢ προαίρεσιν.
Metaphys. vu. v. 3.

——

THE DOCTRINE OF ἘΧΝΗ͂ΡΓΕΙΑ. 189

thought, we are led to refer the potential existence of each
thing to the actual existence of something before (a flower,
for instance, owes its potential existence in the seed, to the
actual existence of another flower before it); and so the world
is eternal, for an ἐνέργεια must be supposed as everlastingly
pre-existing. But even in the individual there are some
things in which the ἐνέργεια seems prior to the δύναμι ; there
are things which the individual seems to have no ‘ power of
doing’ until he does them; he acquires the power, in fact, by
doing them.*! This phenomenon gives rise to a classification
of δυνάμεις into the physical, the passive, and the inherent on
the one hand, and the mental or acquired on the other.*? The
merely physical capacities of our nature exist independent of
any act or effort on the part of the individual.** And so, also,
is it with the senses.*4 But the contrary is the case with
regard to moral virtue, which does not exist in us asa capacity
(δύναμις); in other words, not as a gift of nature (φύσει),
previous to moral action. We acquire the capacity for
virtue by doing virtuous things. It will be seen at once that
a sort of paradox is here involved. ‘ How can it be said that

we become just by doing just things? If we do just things,

81 Metaphys. vit. viii. 6. Διὸ καὶ | αὔξεσθαι) ἐν ἅπασι τοῖς τρεφομένοις θείη

δοκεῖ ἀδύνατον εἶναι οἰκοδόμον εἶναι μὴ
οἰκοδομήσαντα μηθέν, ἢ κιθαριστὴν μη-
θὲν κιθαρίσαντα" 6 γὰρ μανθάνων κιθα-
ρίζειν κιθαρίζων μανθάνει κιθαρίζειν,
ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ οἱ ἄλλοι.

82 Metaphys. vm. v. 1.
τῶν δυνάμεων οὐσῶν τῶν μὲν συγγε-
νῶν, οἷον τῶν αἰσθήσεων" τῶν δὲ ἔθει,

"οἷον τῆς τοῦ αὐλεῖν" τῶν δὲ μαθήσει,
οἷον τῆς τῶν τεχνῶν, τὰς μὲν ἀνάγκη
προενεργήσαντας ἔχειν ὅσαι ἔθει καὶ
λόγῳ: τὰς δὲ μὴ τοιαύτας καὶ τὰς ἐπὶ
τοῦ πάσχειν οὐκ ἀνάγκη.

353. Hth.t. xiii. 11. Τὴν τοιαύτην γὰρ
δύναμιν τῆς ψυχῆς (τοῦ τρέφεσθαι καὶ

“Απασῶν δὲ

τις ἂν καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἐμβρύοις---δοκεῖ ἐν
τοῖς ὕπνοις ἐνεργεῖν μάλιστα τὸ μόριον
τοῦτο καὶ ἣ δύναμις αὕτη.

3: Eth. τι. 1. 4. τὰς δυνάμεις τούτων
πρότερον κομιζόμεθα, ὕστερον δὲ τὰς
ἐνεργείας ἀποδίδομεν. This doctrine is
opposed to some of the modern dis-
coveries of psychology, as, for instance,
Berkeley’s ‘Theory of Vision.’ It is
corrected, however, in some degree by
Aristotle’s doctrine of κοινὴ αἴσθησις.

35 Tbid. Tas δ᾽ ἀρετὰς λαμβάνομεν
ἐνεργήσαντες πρότερον, ὥσπερ καὶ ἐπὶ
τῶν ἄλλων τεχνῶν.

190 ESSAY IV.

we are just already.’ The answer of Aristotle to this difficulty
would seem to be as follows :—

1. Virtue follows the analogy of the arts, in which the first
essays of the learner may by chance, or by the guidance of
his master (ἀπὸ τύχης καὶ ἄλλου ὑποθεμένου), attain a sort of
success and an artistic appearance, but the learner is no
artist as yet.

2. These ‘just acts,’ by which we acquire justice, are, on
nearer inspection, not really just; they want the moral
qualification of that settled internal character in the heart
and mind of the agent, without which no external act is
virtuous in the highest sense of the term. They are ten-
dencies towards the acquirement of this character, as the first
essays of the artist are towards the acquirement of an art.
But they are not to be confounded with those moral acts
which flow from the character when developed and fixed.

4. The whole question depends on Aristotle’s theory of the
ἕξις, as related to δύναμις and ἐνέργεια. There can be no
such thing, properly speaking, as a δύναμις τῆς ἀρετῆς. As
we have before seen, a δύναμις, except it be merely physical,
admits of contraries. And therefore in the case of moral
action there can only be an indefinite capacity of acting
either this way or that, either well or ill, which is therefore
equally a δύναμες of virtue and of vice. The ἐνέργεια in this
case is determined by no intrinsic law of the δύναμις,---
(ἀνάγκη ἕτερόν τι εἶναι τὸ κύριον, Met. vit. v. 3), but by the de-
sire or the reason of the agent. The ἐνέργεια, however, is no
longer indefinite; it has, at all events, some sort of definite-
ness for good or bad. And by the principle of habit (20s),
which Aristotle seems to assume as an acknowledged law of
human nature, the ἐνέργεια reacts upon the δύναμις, repro-
ducing itself. Thus the δύναμες loses its indefiniteness, and
passes into a definite tendency ; it ceases to be a mere δύναμι,

THE DOCTRINE OF ’ENEPYEIA. 191

and becomes an ἕξις, that is to say, a formed and fixed cha-
racter, capable only of producing a certain class of ἐνέργειαι.
Briefly then, by the help of a few metaphysical terms, does
Aristotle sum up his theory of the moral character. Καὶ ἑνὶ
δὴ λόγῳ ἐκ τῶν ὁμοίων ἐνεργειῶν ai ἕξεις γίνονται. And it is
quite consistent with his entire view of these metaphysical
categories, that he defines virtue to be not on the one hand
a δύναμις, else it would be merely physical, nor on the other
hand a πάθος, (which is here equivalent to ἐνέργεια.) else it
would be an isolated emotion,—but a sort of #£s. The Zs,
or moral state, is on the farther side, so to speak, of the
ἐνέργειαι. It is tbe sum and result of them. If ἕξις be re-
garded as a sort of developed δύναμις, as a capacity acquired
indeed and definite, but still only a capacity, it may naturally
be contrasted with ἐνέργεια. Thus in the above quoted ©
passage, Eth, 1. vii. 13, διττῶς ταύτης λεγομένης means καθ᾽
ἕξιν and κατ᾽ ἐνέργειαν, as we may see by comparing VII. xii. 2,
vuL vy. I. From this point of view Aristotle says, that ¢ it
is possible for a ἕξις. to exist, without producing any good.
But with regard to an ἐνέργεια this is not possible.’ I. viii. 9.
On the other hand, however, the ἕξις is a fixed tendency to a
certain class of actions, and, if external circumstances do not
forbid, will certainly produce these. The ἐνέργεια not only
results in a 2s, but also follows from it, and the test of the
formation of a ἕξιθ is pleasure felt in acts resulting from it.
(αι. iii. 1.) When Aristotle says, that there is nothing human
so abiding as the ἐνέργειαι κατ᾽ ἀρετὴν---διὰ τὸ μάλιστα καὶ
συνεχέστατα καταζῆν ἐν αὐταῖς τοὺς μακαρίους, he implies, of
course, that these ἐνέργειαν are bound together by the chain
of a ἕξις, of which in his own phraseology they are the
efficient, the formal, and the final cause. It is observable,
that the phrase ἐνέργειαι τῆς ἀρετῆς occurs only twice in the
ethical treatise. (II. v. 1, x. iii, 1.) This is in accordance

192 ESSAY IV.

with the principle that virtue cannot be regarded as a
δύναμις. Therefore Aristotle seems to regard moral acts not
so much as the development of a latent excellence, but rather
as the development or action of our nature in accordance
with a law (ἐνέργειαι κατ᾽ ἀρετήν). Virtue then comes in as
a regulative, rather than as a primary idea; it is introduced
as subordinate, though essential, to happiness.

When we meet phrases like this just mentioned, we trans-
late them, most probably, into our own formule, into words
belonging to our own moral and psychological systems. We
speak of ‘moral acts,’ or ‘virtuous activities, or ‘moral
energies.’ Thus we conceive of Aristotle’s doctrine as amount-
ing to this, that ‘good acts produce good habits.’ Practi-
cally, no doubt, his theory does comes to this; and if our
object in studying his theory be οὐ γνῶσις ἀλλὰ πρᾶξις, no
better or more useful principle could be deduced from it.
But in so interpreting him, we really strip Aristotle of all his
philosophy. When he spoke of ἐνέργεια κατ᾽ ἀρετήν, a wide
range of metaphysical associations accompanied the expression. _
He was bringing the mind and moral powers of man into the
entire chain of nature, at one end of which was matter, and
at the other end God. He had in his thoughts, that a moral
ἐνέργεια was to the undeveloped capacities as a flower to the
seed, as a statue to the block, as the waking to the sleeping,
as the finite to the undefined. _ And he yet farther implied
that this ἐνέργεια was no mere process or transition to some-
thing else, but contained its end in itself, and was desirable
for its own sake. The distinctness of modern language, and
the separation between the various spheres of modern thought,
prevent us from reproducing in any one term all the various
associations that attach to this formula of ancient philosophy.
As said before, we must rather feel, than endeavour to express _

them.

THE DOCTRINE OF ’ENEPIEIA. 193

Hitherto we have only alluded to those conceptions which
ἐνέργεια, as a universal category, imported into Ethics. We
have now to advert to those which necessarily accrue to it by
reason of its introduction into this science. It is clear that a
psychical ἐνέργεια must be different from the same category
exhibited in any external object. Life, the mind, the moral
faculties, must have their ‘existence in actuality’ distin-
guished from their mere ‘ potentiality’ by some special dif-
ference, not common to other existences. What is it that
distinguishes vitality from the conditions of life, waking from
sleeping, thought from the dormant faculties, moral action
from the unevoked moral capacities? In all these contrasts
there is no conception that approaches nearer towards sum-
ming up the distinction than that of ‘ consciousness.’

Viewed from without, or objectively, ἐνέργεια must mean an
existence fully developed in itself, or an activity desirable for
its own sake, so that the mind could contemplate it without
seeing in it a means ora condition to anything beyond. But
when taken subjectively, as being an ἐνέργεια of the mind
itself, as existing not only for the mind but also an the mind,
it acquires a new aspect and character. Henceforth it is not
only the rounded whole, the self-ending activity, the bloom-
ing of something perfect, in the contemplation of which the
mind could repose; but it is the mind itself called out into
actuality. It springs out of the mind and ends in the mind.
ΤΕ is not only life, but the sense of life; not only waking, but
the feeling of the powers; not only perception or thought,
but a consciousness of one’s own faculties as well as of the
external object.

This conscious vitality of the life and the mind is not to be
considered a permanent condition, but one that arises in us.**

% Eth, rx. ix. 5. γίνεται καὶ οὐχ ὑπάρχει ὥσπερ κτῆμά τι.
ο

194 ESSAY IV.

Oftenest it is like a thrill of joy, a momentary intuition. Were
it abiding, if our mind were capable of a perpetual ἐνέργεια,
we should be as God, who is ἐνέργεια ἄνευ δυνάμεως. But that
which we attain to for a brief period gives us a glimpse of the
divine, and of the life of God.?7 ‘ The life of God is of a
kind with those highest moods which with us last a brief
space, it being impossible that they should be permanent,
whereas with Him they are permanent, since His ever-present
consciousness is pleasure itself. And it is because they are
vivid states of consciousness that waking and perception and
thought are the sweetest of all things, and in a secondary
degree hope and memory.’

This passage seems of itself an almost sufficient answer to
those who would argue that Aristotle did not mean to imply
consciousness in his definition of happiness. If our happi-
ness, which is defined as ἐνέργεια ψυχῆς, gives us a conception
of the blessedness of God,’ which is elsewhere defined as the
‘ thinking upon thought,’ we can hardly escape the conelusion,
that it is the deepest and most vivid consciousness in us that
constitutes our happiness. The more this idea is followed
out, the more completely will it be found applicable to the
theory of Aristotle; the more will it justify his philosophy
and be justified by it. But here it is necessary to. confess,
that in using the term ‘consciousness’ to express the chief
import of ἐνέργεια, as applied to the mind and to the
theory of happiness, we are using a distinct modern term,
whereas the ancient one was indistinct; we are making
explicit what was only implicit in Aristotle; we are rather
applying to him a deduction from his principles than exactly

37 Metaph. xt. vii. 6. Διαγωγὴ δ᾽ | τούτου" καὶ διὰ τοῦτο ἐγρήγορσις at-
ἐστὶν ola ἡ ἀρίστη μικρὸν χρόνον ἡμῖν" | σθησις νόησις ἥδιστον, ἐλπίδες δὲ καὶ
οὕτω γὰρ ἀεὶ ἐκεῖνό ἐστιν (ἡμῖν μὲν γὰρ | μνῆμαι διὰ ταῦτα.
ἀδύνατον) ἐπεὶ καὶ ἡδονὴ ἡ ἐνέργεια

THE DOCTRINE OF ἘΝΗΡΓΕΙΑ. 195

representing them in their purest form. Aristotle never says
‘consciousness,’ though we see he meant it. But one of the
peculiarities of his philosophy was the want of subjective
formulz, and a tendency to confuse the subjective and the
objective together. About ἐνέργεια itself Aristotle is not con-
sistent; sometimes he treats it purely as objective, separating
the consciousness from it; as, for instance, Eth. 1x. ix. 9,
ἔστι τε τὸ αἰσθανόμενον ὅτι évepyodpev. ‘There is somewhat
in us that takes cognizance of the exercise of our powers.’
Again x. iv. 8, τελειοῖ τὴν ἐνέργειαν ἡ ἡδονὴ ὧς ἐπιγινόμενόν TL
τέλος. “ Pleasure is a sort of superadded perfection, making
perfect the exercise of our powers.’ But this is at variance
with his usual custom; for not only is pleasure defined in
Book VII. (whether by Aristotle or Eudemus) as ἐνέργεια
ἀνεμπόδιστος, but also happiness is universally defined as
ἐνέργεια. And if we wish to see the term applied in an un-
deniably subjective way, we may look to Eth. 1x. vii. 6.
᾿Ἡδεῖα δ᾽ ἐστὶ τοῦ μὲν παρόντος ἡ ἐνέργεια, Tod δὲ μέλλοντος ἡ
ἐλπίς, τοῦ δὲ γεγενημένου ἡ μνήμη; where we can hardly help
translating, ‘the actual consciousness of the present,’ as con-
trasted with ‘the hope of the future,’ and ‘the memory of
the past.’ In a similar context, De Memorid, i. 4, we find
Tod μὲν παρόντος αἴσθησις, κ-τ.λ.

In saying that the idea: of “ consciousness’ is implied in, and
might almost always be taken to represent, Aristotle’s Ethical
application of ἐνέργεια, we need not overshoot the mark, and
speak as if Aristotle made the Summum Bonum to consist in
self-consciousness, or self-reflection; that would be giving
far too much weight to the subjective side of the conception
ἐνέργεια. Aristotle’s theory rather comes to this, that the
chief good for man is to be found in life itself. Life, accord-
ing to his philosophy, is no means to anything ulterior ; in the
words of Goethe, ‘ Life itself is the end of life. The very use

ο 2

196 ESSAY IV.

of the term ἐνέργεια, as part of the definition of happiness,
shows, as Aristotle tells us, that he regards the chief good as
nothing external to man, but as existing in man and for
man, — existing in the evocation, the vividness, and the
fruition of man’s own powers.?* Let that be called out
into ‘actuality’ which is potential or latent in man, and
happiness is the result. Avoiding then any overstrained
application of the term ‘ consciousness,’ and aiming rather at
paraphrase than translation, it may be useful to notice one or
two places in which the term ἐνέργεια occurs. th, I. Χ. 2.
"Apa γε καὶ ἔστιν εὐδαίμων τότε ἐπειδὰν ἀποθάνῃ ; ᾽Ἢ τοῦτό γε
παντελῶς ἄτοπον, ἄλλως τε καὶ τοῖς λέγουσιν ἡμῖν ἐνέργειάν
τινα τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν ; “ [5 ἃ man then happy, after he is dead?
Or is not this altogether absurd, especially for us who call
happiness a conscious state?’ 1. x. 9. Κύριαι δ᾽ εἰσὶν αἱ κατ᾽
ἀρετὴν ἐνέργειαι τῆς εὐδαιμονίας. “ Happiness depends (not on
fortune, but) on harmonious moods of mind.’ 1. x. 15. Τί οὖν
κωλύει λέγειν εὐδαίμονα τὸν κατ᾽ ἀρετὴν τελείαν ἐνεργοῦντα,
x... * What hinders us calling him happy who is in posses-
sion of absolute peace and harmony of mind?’ vit. xiv. 8.
Διὸ ὁ Θεὸς ἀεὶ μίαν καὶ ἁπλῆν χαίρει ἡδονήν" οὐ γὰρ μόνον
κινήσεώς ἐστιν ἐνέργεια, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἀκινησίας. ‘God is in the
fruition of one pure pleasure everlastingly. For deep con-
sciousness is possible, not only of motion, but also of repose.’
Ix. ix. 5. Μονώτῃ μὲν οὖν χαλεπὸς ὁ Blos: οὐ yap ῥάδιον καθ᾽
αὑτὸν ἐνεργεῖν συνεχῶς, μεθ᾽ ἑτέρων δὲ καὶ πρὸς ἄλλους ῥᾷον.
‘ Now to the solitary individual life is grievous; for it is not
easy to maintain a glow of mind by one’s self, but in company
with some one else, and in relation to others, this is easier.’
The formula we are discussing is applied by Aristotle to

88 Eth. 1. vili. 3. ᾿Ορθῶς δὲ καὶ ὅτι | τέλος, οὕτως γὰρ τῶν περὶ ψυχὴν ἀγαθῶν
πράξεις τινὲς λέγονται καὶ ἐνέργειαι τὸ | γίνεται καὶ οὐ τῶν ἐκτός.

THE DOCTRINE OF ’ENEPTEIA. 197

express the nature both of pleasure and of happiness. By
examining separately these two applications of the term,
we shall not only gain a clearer conception of the import
of ἐνέργεια itself, but also we shall be in a better position
for seeing what were Aristotle’s real views about happiness.
1. The great point that Aristotle insists upon with regard to
pleasure is, that it is not xivnows or γένεσις, but ἐνέργεια
(Eth. vu. xii. 3, X. iii. 4-5. X. iv. 2). What is the meaning
of the distinction? In Aristotle’s Rhetoric® we find pleasure
defined in exactly the terms here repudiated, namely, as ‘a
certain motion of the vital powers, and a settling down per-
ceptibly and suddenly into one’s proper nature, while pain is
the contrary.’ This definition is there given merely as a
popular one, sufficient for the purposes of the orator, who does
not require metaphysical exactness. It corresponds with that
given in Plato’s Tumeus.* It seems to have been originally
due to the Cyrenaics ; for these are said to be referred to by
Socrates in the Philebus of Plato (p. 53 C), under the name
of ‘a refined set of men (κομψοί tives), who maintain that
pleasure is always a state of becoming (yéveows), and never
a state of being (ovcia)’ (see above, p. 132). Now in all
essential parts of their views on pleasure Aristotle and Plato
were quite agreed. Both would have said,*! pleasure is not
the chief good ; both would have made a distinction between
the bodily pleasures, which are preceded by desire and a sense
of pain—and the mental pleasures, which are free from this;
both would have asserted the pleasure of the philosopher to be
higher than all other pleasures: The difference between them

39 Phet. τ, xi. 1. Ὑποκείσθω δ᾽ ἡμῖν | παρὰ φύσιν καὶ βίαιον γιγνόμενον ἁθρόον
εἶναι τὴν ἡδονὴν κίνησίν τινα τῆς ψυχῆς παρ᾽ ἡμῖν πάθος ἀλγεινόν, τὸ δ᾽ εἰς φύσιν
καὶ κατάστασιν ἁθρόαν καὶ αἰσθητὴν ἀπιὸν πάλιν ἁθρόον ἡδύ.
εἰς τὴν ὑπάρχουσαν φύσιν, λύπην δὲ | Cf. Plato, Philebus, p. 22 E, Eth.
τοὐναντίον. ἜΛΗΣ 12:

“2. Cf. Plato, Timeus, p. 64 Ὁ. Τὸ μὲν

198 ESSAY IV.

resolves itself into one of formule. Plato has no consistent
formula to express pleasure, he calls it ‘a return to one’s
natural state,’ ‘a becoming,’ ‘a filling up,’ ‘a transition.’
But all these terms are only applicable to the bodily pleasures,
preceded by a sense of want. Plato acknowledges that there
are pleasures above these, but he seems to have no word to
express them. Therefore he may be said to leave the stigma
upon pleasure in general, that it is a mere state of transition.
Aristotle here steps in with his formula of évépyeva, and says,
pleasure is not a transition, but a fruition. It is not im-
perfect, but an End-in-itself. It does not arise from our
coming to our natural state, but from our employing it.”
Kant‘? defines pleasure to be ‘ the sense of that which pro-
motes life, pain of that which hinders it. Consequently,’ he
argues, ‘ every pleasure must be preceded by pain; pain is
always the first. For what else would ensue upon a continued
advancement of vital power, but a speedy death for joy?
Moreover, no pleasure can follow immediately upon another;
but, between the one and the other, some pain must have
place. It is the slight depressions of vitality, with inter-
vening expansions of it, which together make up a healthy
condition, which we erroneously take for a continuously-felt
state of well-being; whereas, this condition consists only of
pleasurable feelings, following each other by reciprocation,
that is, with continually intervening pain. Pain is the
stimulus of activity, and in activity we first become conscious
of life; without it an inanimate state would ensue.’ In these
words the German philosopher seems almost exactly to have
coincided with Plato. The ‘sense of that which promotes
life’ answers to avamrAjpwors, and Plato appears to have held,

42 Eth, vi. xii. 3. Οὐ γινομένων | The above translation is given by Dr.
συμβαίνουσιν, ἀλλὰ χρωμένων. Badham in an Appendix to his edition
18. Kant’s Anthropology, p. 169. | of Plato's Philebus. London, 1855.

THE DOCTRINE OF ‘ENEPTELIA. 199

(Cf.
Phedo, p.60.) Kant’s views, like Plato’s, are only applicable

with Kant, the reciprocal action of pleasure and pain.

to the bodily sensations, and do not express pleasures of the
mind.

Aristotle in defining pleasure as ὃ τελειοῖ τὴν ἐνέργειαν,
makes it, not ‘the sense of what promotes life,’ but rather
the sense of life itself; the sense of the vividness of the vital
powers; the sense that any faculty whatsoever has met its
proper object. This definition then is equally applicable to
the highest functions of the mind, as well as to the bodily
organs. Even in the case of pleasure felt upon the supply-
ing of a want, the Aristotelian** doctrine with regard to that
pleasure was, that it was not identical with the supply, but
contemporaneous; that it resulted from the play and action
of vital powers not in a state of depression, while the de-
pressed organs were receiving sustenance. To account for
the fact that pleasure cannot be long maintained, Aristotle
would not have said, like Kant, that we are unable to bear a
continuous expansion of the vital powers; but rather, that we
are unable to maintain the vivid action of the faculties.*
Pleasure then, according to Aristotle, proceeds rather from
within than from without; it is the sense of existence; and it
is so inseparably connected with the idea of life, that we
cannot tell whether life is desired for the sake of pleasure, or
pleasure for the sake of life.*°

2. If happiness be defined as ἐνέργεια ψυχῆς, and pleasure

44 Cf, Eth. x. iii. 6. Οὐδ᾽ ἔστιν ἄρα
ἀναπλήρωσις ἣ ἡδονή, ἀλλὰ γινομένης
μὲν ἀναπληρώσεως ἥδοιτ᾽ ἄν Tis. VI.
xiv.7. Λέγω δὲ κατὰ συμβεβηκὸς ἡδέα
τὰ ἰατρεύοντα- ὅτι γὰρ συμβαίνει ἰα-
τρεύεσθαι τοῦ ὑπομένοντος ὑγιοῦς πράτ-
τοντός τι, διὰ τοῦτο ἡδὺ δοκεῖ εἶναι, ἡ. 6.
that it is the play, in some sort, of
the undepressed vital functions, while

those that were depressed are being
recruited.

% Eth. x. iv. 9. Πάντα γὰρ τὰ ἀν-
θρώπεια ἀδυνατεῖ συνεχῶς ἐνεργεῖν.

“© Eth. X. ἵν. 11. Σξυνεζεῦχθαι μὲν
γὰρ ταῦτα φαίνεται καὶ χωρισμὸν οὐ
δέχεσθαι ἄνευ τε γὰρ ἐνεργείας οὐ
γίνεται ἡδονή, πᾶσάν τε ἐνέργειαν τε-
λειοῖ ἡ ἡδονή.

200 ESSAY IV.

as ὃ τελειοῖ τὴν ἐνέργειαν, what is the relation between them ?
Perhaps it is unfair to Aristotle to bring the different parts
of his work thus into collision. Probably he worked out the
treatise on Pleasure in Book X. without much regard to the
theory of happiness, but merely availing himself of the for-
mule which seemed most applicable. It is only in Book VII.
(x11. 2)—which we have seen reason to consider a later
work, and the compilation of Eudemus,—that pleasure and
happiness are brought together on the grounds that they
both consist in ‘the free play of conscious life’ (ἐνέργεια
aveuToductos). This is a carrying out of Aristotle’s doctrine
beyond what we find in Books I. and X.‘7 Aristotle had
prepared the way in these for the identification of happiness
with the highest kind of pleasure, but had not himself
arrived at it. However, we can find no other distinction in
his theory between pleasure and happiness, than that the
latter is something ideal and essentially moral (τέλος καὶ
τέλειον πάντῃ πάντως), and extended over an entire life
(λαβοῦσα μῆκος βίου τελείου), and implying the highest
human excellence, the exercise of the highest faculties (ψυχῆς
ἐνέργεια κατὰ τὴν κρατίστην ἀρετήν). We have before alluded
to the ideal character of happiness as a whole. This is
shown especially by the fact, that while on the one hand
Aristotle says that happiness (ἐνέργεια ψυχῆς) must occupy a
whole life, on the other hand he speaks of brevity of dura-
tion as necessarily attaching to every human ἐνέργεια. A
δύναμις, he argues, is not only a δύναμις of being, but also a
δύναμις of not-being. This contradiction always infects our
ἐνέργειαι, and, like a law of gravitation, this negative side is

“ΟΕ is true that among the wn- | Not only is this unphilosophical, but
philosophical definitions of happiness | also the Rhetoric may be considered
given in the Rhetoric, τ. v. 3, this oc- | later in conception than the Ethics.
curs,—Blos μετ᾽ ἀσφαλείας ἥδιστος.

THE DOCTRINE OF THE MEAN. 201

always tending to bring them to a stop. The heavenly
bodies, being divine and eternal, move perpetually and un-
weariedly,‘® for in them this law of contradiction does not
exist. But to mortal creatures it is impossible to long main-
tain an évépyea,—that vividness of the faculties, on which
joy and pleasure depend. Happiness then, as a permanent
condition, is something ideal; Aristotle figures it as the
whole of life summed up into a vivid moment of conscious-
ness; or again, as the aggregate of such moments with the
intervals omitted; or again, that these moments are its
essential part (τὸ κύριον μέρος τῆς εὐδαιμονίας), constituting
the most blessed state of the internal life (ζωὴ μακαριωτάτη).
while the framework for these will be the Bios αἱρετώτατος,
or most favourable external career (δ. 1x. ix. 9). In what
then do these moments consist? Chiefly in the sense of life
and personality; in the higher kind of consciousness, which
is above the mere physical sense of life. This is either
coupled with a sense of the good and noble, as in the con-
sciousness of good deeds done (Hth. 1x. vii. 4); or it is
awakened by friendship, by the sense of love and admiration
for the goodness of a friend, who is, as it were, one’s self and
yet not one’s self (Eth. rx. ix. 10); or finally it exists to the
highest degree in the evocation of the reason, which is not
only each man’s proper self (Hth. 1x. iv. 4, X. vii. 9), as
forming the deepest ground of his consciousness, but is also
something divine, and more than mortal in us.

III. Turning now to the consideration of Μεσότης, we
shall see that it is only one application of this formula, to
use it in reference to moral subjects; that it is indeed a most

48 Metaph. vi. viii. 18. Διὸ ἀεὶ | μνει τοῦτο δρῶντα: οὐ γὰρ περὶ τὴν
ἐνεργεῖ ἥλιος καὶ ἄστρα καὶ ὅλος ὅ | δύναμιν τῆς ἀντιφάσεως αὐτοῖς, οἷον
οὐρανός, καὶ οὐ φοβερὸν μή ποτε στῇ, | τοῖς φθαρτοῖς, ἣ κίνησις.
φοβοῦντα! οἱ περὶ φύσεως. Οὐδὲ κά-

202 ESSAY IV.

widely applicable philosophical idea, and has a definite history
and development previous to Aristotle. It would seem not
to require a very advanced state of philosophy in order for
men to discover the maxim, that ‘ moderation is best,’ that
‘excess is to be avoided.’ Thus as far back as Hesiod we
find the praise of μέτρια ἔργα. The era of the Seven Sages
produced the gnome, afterwards inscribed on the temple
of Delphi, Μηδὲν ἄγαν. And one of the few sayings of
Phocylides which remain is Πολλὰ μέσοισιν ἄριστα, μέσος
θέλω ἐν πόλει sivar. Now all that is contained in these
popular and prudential sayings is of course also contained in
the principle of Μεσότης, which is so conspicuous in the
Ethics of Aristotle. But Aristotle’s principle contains some-
thing more—it is not a mere application of the doctrine of
moderation to the subject-matter of the various separate
virtues. We see traces of a more profound source of the idea
in his reference to the verse ἐσθλοὶ μὲν yap ἁπλῶς, παντο-
δαπῶς δὲ κακοί. For here we are taken back to associations
of the Pythagorean philosophy, and to the principle that evil
is of the nature of the infinite and good of the finite.*9

To say that what is infinite is evil, that what is finite is
good, may seem an entire contradiction to our own ways of
thinking. We speak of ‘man’s finite nature,’ or of ‘ the infi-
nite nature of God,’ from a contrary point of view. But by
‘finite’ in such sentences we mean to express limitations of
power, of goodness, of knowledge, each limitation implying an
inferiority as compared with a nature in which such limitation
does not exist. But the Pythagoreans were not dealing with
this train of thought, when they said ‘the finite is good.’
They were expressing what was in the first place a truth of

9 Eth, τι. vi. 14. Τὸ γὰρ κακὸν τοῦ ἀπείρου, ὡς of Πυθαγόρειοι εἴκαζον, τὸ δ᾽

ἐγαθὸν τοῦ πεπερασμένον,

THE DOCTRINE OF THE MEAN. 203

number, but afterwards was applied as a universal symbol ;
they were speaking of goodness in reference to their own
minds. The ‘ finite’ in number is the calculable, that®° which
the mind can grasp and handle; the ‘infinite’ is the incal-
culable, that which baffles the mind, that which refuses to
reduce itself to law, and hence remains unknowable. The
‘infinite’ in this sense remained an object of aversion to the
Pythagoreans, and hence in drawing out their double row of
goods and evils, they placed ‘the even’ on the side of the
bad, ‘the odd’ on the side of the good. This itself might
seem paradoxical, until we learn that with even numbers
they associated the idea of infinite subdivision, and that even
numbers added together fail to produce squares; while the
series of the odd numbers if added together produces a series.
of squares; and the square, by reason of its completeness and
of the law which it exhibits, is evidently of the nature of the
finite. The opposition of the finite and the infinite took root
in Greek philosophy, and above all in the system of Plato.
Unity and plurality, form and matter, genus and individuals,
idea and phenomena, are all different modifications of this
same opposition. The Pythagoreans themselves appear to
have expressed or symbolized matter under the term τὸ
_ ἄπειρον, and Plato®' seems to have yet more distinctly con-
ceived of this characteristic of matter or space, saying that it
was an ‘ undefined duad,’ that is, that it contained in itself
an infinity in two directions, the infinitely small aad the
infinitely great.

Assuming therefore that the principle of the finite, or the
limit (πεπερασμένον or mépas), may be considered as identical

50 Cf, Philolaus, apud Stob. Hel. | σθῆμεν ἄνευ τούτω. Whether this
Phys. τ. xxi. 7. Καὶ πάντα γα μὰν τὰ | fragment be genuine or not, it ex-.
γιγνωσκόμενα ἀριθμὸν ἔχοντι, ov γὰρ | presses the doctrine.
οἷόν τε οὐδὲν οὔτε νοηθῆμεν οὔτε γνω- 51 Οὗ Ar. Metaphys. τ. vi. 6.

204 ESSAY IV.

with that of form or law, we may now proceed to notice what
appears to be the transition from the idea of fixed law or
form (εἶδος), to that of proportion or the mean (pecdrns), that
is, to law or form become relative. It is to be found in the
Philebus of Plato, p. 23—27. Socrates there divides all
existence into four classes: first, the infinite (ἄπειρον) ; second,
the limit (πέρας) ; third, things created and compounded out
of the mixture of these two (ἐκ τούτων μικτὴν καὶ γεγενημένην
οὐσίαν) ; fourth, the cause of this mixture and of the creation
of things. The infinite is that class of things admitting of
degrees, more or less, hotter and colder, quicker and slower,
and the like, where no fixed notion of quantity has as yet
come in. The limit is this fixed notion of quantity, as, for
instance, the equal or the double. The third or mixed class
exhibits the law of the πέρας introduced into the ἄπειρον.
Of this Socrates adduces beautiful manifestations. Thus in
the human body the infinite is the tendency to extremes, to
disorder, to disease, but the introduction of the limit here
produces a balance of the constitution and health. In sounds
you have the infinite degrees of deep and high, quick and
slow; but the limit gives rise to modulation, and harmony,
and all that is delightful in music. In climate and tem-
perature, where the limit has been introduced, excessive heats
and violent storms subside, and the mild and genial seasons
in their order follow. In the human mind, ‘ the goddess of
the lmmit’ checks into submission the wild and wanton
passions, and gives rise to all that is good.

Both in things physical and moral these two opposites, the
finite and the infinite, are thus made to play into one another,
and to be the joint causes of beauty and excellence. Out of
their union an entire set of ideas and terms seem to spring up,
symmetry, proportion, balance, harmony, moderation, and the
like. And this train of associations seems to have been con-

THE DOCTRINE OF THE MEAN. 205

stantly present to the mind of Plato. It suited the essentially
Greek character of his philosophy to dwell upon the goodness
of beauty, and the beauty of goodness, on the morality of
art, and the artistic nature of morality; so that words like
μετριότης and συμμετρία became naturally appropriated to
express excellence in life and action.*

This Platonic principle, then, Aristotle seems to have taken
up and adopted, slightly changing the formula, however, and
speaking of μεσότης instead of μετριότης. The reason for this
change may have been, that the formula became thus more
exact and more capable of a close analytic application to a
variety of instances, and at the same time gave scope for
expressing that which is with Aristotle the complement of
the theory, namely the doctrine of extremes and their relation.
to the mean. Aristotle does not ignore the physical and
artistic meanings of the principle. On the contrary, the whole
bearing of his use of the term μεσότης is to show that moral
virtue is only another expression of the same law which we see
in nature and the arts. Life has been defined to be ‘ multeity
in unity,’ in other words, it is the law of the πέρας exhibited
in the ἄπειρον. The first argument made use of by Aristotle
to show that virtuous action consists in a balance between
_ extremes is drawn from the analogy of physical life; * For
about immaterial things,’ he says, ‘we must use material
analogies.’ ‘Excess and deficiency equally destroy the health
and strength, while what is proportionate (τὰ σύμμετρα) pre-
serves and augments them’ (Hth. 11. ii. 6). Again, he points
out that all art aims at the mean, and the finest works of art

8 Cf. Republic, p. 400 E. Ἔστι δέ yé
που πλήρης μὲν γραφικὴ αὐτῶν καὶ πᾶσα
h τοιαύτη δημιουργία, πλήρης δὲ ὕφαν-
τικὴ καὶ ποικιλία καὶ οἰκοδομία καὶ πᾶσα
αὖ ἣ τῶν ἄλλων σκευῶν ἐργασία, ἔτι δὲ
ἣ τῶν σωμάτων φύσις καὶ ἣ τῶν ἄλλων

φυτῶν" ἐν πᾶσι γὰρ τούτοις ἔνεστιν
εὐσχημοσύνη ἢ ἀσχημοσύνη. καὶ ἡ μὲν
ἀσχημοσύνη καὶ ἀῤῥυθμία καὶ ἀναρμοστία
κακολογίας καὶ κακοηθείας ἀδελφά, τὰ δ᾽
ἐναντία τοῦ ἐναντίου, σώφρονός τε καὶ
ἀγαθοῦ ἤθους, ἀδελφά τε καὶ μιμήματα.

206 ESSAY IV

are those which seem to have realized a subtle grace which the
least addition to any part or diminution from it would overset
(Eth. τι. vi. g). ‘And moral virtue,’ he adds, ‘is finer than
the finest art.’ But it is by a mathematical expression of the
formula, by reducing it to an absolutely quantitative concep=
tion, that Aristotle’s use of Mecorns is chiefly distinguished.
He says, that all quantity, whether space or number (ἐν παντὶ
δὴ συνεχεῖ καὶ διαιρετῷ), admits of the terms more, less, and
equal. On making these terms relative, you have excess,
deficiency, and the mean. The mean, then, is in geometrical
proportion what the equal is in arithmetical progression.
The middle term arithmetically is that which is equidistant
from the terms on each side of it. Geometrically, the mean is
not an absolute mean, but a relative mean, that is, if applied
to action, it expresses the consideration of persons and of cir-
cumstances (£th. τι. vi. 4-5). This opposition of the mean to
the too much and too little becomes henceforward a formula
of almost universal application. It is no mere negative
principle, not the mere avoiding of extremes, but rather the
realization of a law. When Aristotle says that the pecdrns
must be ὡρισμένη λόγῳ, he means that our action must cor-
respond to the standard which exists in the rightly-ordered
mind. What is subjectively the λόγος, law or standard, that
is objectively the μεσότης or balance. ‘Each of our senses,’
says Aristotle, ‘is a sort of balance (uecorns) between extremes
in the objects of sensation, and this it is which gives us the
power of judging.’ ** a
Thus again he says of plants, that they have no per-
ceptions, ‘ because they have no standard’ (διὰ τὸ μὴ ἔχειν
μεσότητα, De An. τι. xii. 4). Again, he defines pleasure and

38 De Anima, τι. xi. 17. ‘Qs τῆς | διὰ τοῦτο κρίνει τὰ αἰσθητά, Td γὰρ
αἰσθήσεως οἷον μεσότητός τινος οὔσης | μέσον κριτικόν.
τῆς ἐν τοῖς αἰσθητοῖς ἐναντιώσεως. Καὶ

THE DOCTRINE OF THE MEAN. 207

pain to consist in ‘the consciousness, by means of the dis-
criminating faculty (τῇ αἰσθητικῇ μεσότητι) of the senses, of
coming in contact with good or evil.’°4 Each of the senses
then is, or contains, a sort of standard of its proper object.

’ And it is clear that Aristotle attributes to us a similar critical

faculty in regard of morals. He says, that ‘It is peculiar to
man, as compared with the other animals, that he has a sense
of good and bad, just and unjust.*> He seems to have
regarded this ‘ moral sense’ as analogous to the ‘ musical ear,”
which in some degree is almost natural to all men, but again
exists in very different degrees in different men, and also may
be more or less cultivated. Thus (Zth. 1x. ix. 6) he speaks of
the good man being ‘ pleased at good actions, as the musical
man is at beautiful tunes.’ And in Hth. x. iii. 10 he says _
that ‘ It will be impossible to feel the pleasure of a just man
if one is not just, as it will be to feel the pleasure of a musical
man if one is not musical.’ In the Ethics, its proper objective
sense is preserved to Μεσότης, which accordingly means a
‘balance,’ and not the ‘standard’ for determining that balance,
which is expressed by the term λόγος. A moment’s con-
sideration of this point will give an answer to the somewhat
superficial question, Why does not Aristotle make the in-
tellectual virtues mean states? In the original form of the
principle of Mecorns we have seen that it consisted in the
introduction of the law of the πέρας into the ἄπειρον. The
passions and desires are the infinite; moral virtue consists in
introducing limit (7épas) into them,—in bringing them under
a law (λόγῳ opiew)—in making them exhibit balance, pro-
portion, harmony (μεσότητα), which is the realization of the

54. Καὶ ἔστι τὸ ἥδεσθαι καὶ λυπεῖσθαι 5 Pol. 1. ii. 12. Τοῦτο γὰρ πρὸς
τὸ ἐνεργεῖν τῇ αἰσθητικῇ μεσότητι mpds τἄλλα ζῷα τοῖς ἀνθρώποις ἴδιον, Td |
τὸ ἀγαθὸν ἢ κακὸν, ἧ τοιαῦτα.---Π)6 An. | μόνον ἀγαθοῦ καὶ κακοῦ καὶ δικαίου καὶ
Itt, Vil, 2. ἀδίκου καὶ τῶν ἄλλων αἴσθησιν ἔχειν.

208 ESSAY IV.

law. On the other band, reason (ὀρθὸς Adyos) is another
name for the law itself. It is the standard, and therefore
does not require to be regulated by the standard. The in-
tellectual virtues are not μεσότητες, because they 86, λόγοι.

The worth and validity of Aristotle’s principle of the mean
has been much canvassed and questioned. Kant has been
very severe on Aristotle for making ‘a merely quantitative
difference between vice and virtue.’ Some have thought the
theory practically true, but scientifically untenable; others, on
the contrary, that scientifically and abstractedly it is true, but
that practically it gives an unworthy picture of morality, that
it fails to represent the absolute and awful difference between
right and wrong. Aristotle himself seems to have antici-
pated this last objection, by remarking®® that ‘It is only
according to the most abstract and metaphysical conception
that virtue is a mean between vices, whereas from a moral
point of view it is an extreme (ὖ.6. utterly and extremely
removed from them’). Aristotle acknowledges that the
formula of the mean does not adequately express the good of
virtue ; that when thinking of virtue under the category of
good, and regarding it as an object for the moral feelings and
desires, as an object to be striven after, we should rather seek
some other formula to express its nature. In the same way
it might be said in accordance with modern views, that ‘ the
mean’ does not adequately express the right of virtue in
relation to the will and conscience.

The objections to Aristotle’s theory arise from a partial
misconception of what the term Mecorns really conveys. Kant
for ‘the mean’ substitutes ‘law.’ But we have already traced
the identity or correlation of Λόγος and Μεσότης, and we have
seen that Μεσότης really implies and expresses exactly what

56. Eth, τι. vi. 17. Κατὰ μὲν τὴν | λέγοντα μεσότης ἐστὶν ἡ ἀρετή, κατὰ
οὐσίαν καὶ τὸν λόγον τὸν τί ἦν εἶναι | δὲ τὸ ἄριστον καὶ τὸ εὖ ἀκρότης,

THE DOCTRINE OF THE MEAN. 209

is meant by ‘law’—properly so called. The only advantage
which the term ‘law’ can have over Megorns, as an ethical
principle, comes to it unfairly. . For there is a sort of ambi-
guity between the two meanings of the word law; on the one
hand it may denote a general principle, or harmony, or idea
in nature; on the other hand an authoritative command of
the state. In applying the word to morals the associations
of both meanings are blended together, and ‘the law of right’
accordingly expresses not only something harmonious, the
attainment of an idea in action, but also there is a sort of
association of authority conveyed, of the ‘ must,’ of some-
thing binding on the will.

Supposing then we take the word ‘law’ or ‘idea’ as being
the real representative of Μεσότης, it may still be asked.
whether a quantitative term be a fit and worthy expression
for so deep a moral conception. The Pythagoreans would not
have understood this objection. They thought numbers the
most sublime and the only true expression for all that was
good in the physical and moral world. They would have used
in reference to number the exact counterpart of Wordsworth’s
praise of Duty—‘ And the most ancient heavens by thee are
fresh and strong.’ They would have delighted to say that
virtue is a square and vice an uneven-sided figure. When we
look to the arts, following the analogy that Aristotle pointed
out, we see clearly how the whole of beauty seems from one
point of view to depend on the more and the less. It does
not derogate from a beautiful form, that more or less would
spoil it. We still think of beauty as something positive, and
that more or less would be the negations of this. By degrees,
however, we come to figure to ourselves beauty rather as re-
pelling the more and the less, than as being caused by them.
The capacity for more and less is matter, the ἄπειρον, the
ἀόριστος δυάς of Plato. The idea coming in stamps itself

P

210 ESSAY IV.

upon this, we now have the harmonious and the beautiful, and
all extremes and quantitative possibilities vanish out of sight.
Matter is totally forgotten in our contemplation of form. So
is it also with morals. We might fix our view upon the
negative side of virtue, look at it in contrast to the extremes,
and say it is constituted virtue by being a little more than
vice and a little less than vice. But this would be to establish
a positive idea out of the negation of its negations.

To look at anything in its elements makes it appear
inferior to what it seems as a whole. Resolve the statue or
the building into stone and the laws of proportion, and no
worthy causes of the former beautiful result seem now left
behind. So, also, resolve a virtuous act into the passions and
some quantitative law, and it seems to be rather destroyed
than analysed; though, after all, what was there else that it
could be resolved into? An act of bravery seems beautiful
and noble; when we reduce this to a balance between the
instincts of fear and self-confidence, the glory of it is gone.
This is because the form is everything, and the matter nothing ;
and yet the form, without the matter as its exponent, has no
existence. It is, no doubt, true that the beauty of that
brave act would have been destroyed had the boldness of it
been pushed into folly; and equally so had it been controlled
into caution. The act, as it was done, exhibits the law of
life, ‘multeity in unity;’ or, in other words, the law of
beauty. This is, then, what the term Mecorns is capable of
expressing ; it is the law of beauty. If virtue is harmony,
grace, and beauty in action, Μεσότης perfectly expresses
this.

That beauty constituted virtue, was an eminently Greek
idea. If we run through Aristotle’s list of the virtues, we find
them all embodying this idea. The law of the Μεσότης, as
exhibited in bravery, temperance, liberality, and magnanimity,

THE DOCTRINE OF THE MEAN. 211

constitutes a noble, free, and brilliant type of manhood.
Extend it also, as Aristotle does, to certain qualifications of
temper, speech, and manners, and you have before you the
portrait of a graceful Grecian gentleman. The question now
is, are there other virtues which exhibit some other law than
this law of beauty, and to which, therefore, the Μεσότης
would be inapplicable? Let us take as instances, truth,
humility, charity, forgiveness of injuries, and ask what is the
case with these. ‘ Truth’ is treated of in a remarkable way
by Aristotle; under this name he describes a certain straight-
forwardness of manner, which he places as the mean between
boastfulness and over-modesty. That deeper kind of truth
which, as he says, is concerned with justice and injustice, he
omits to treat of. When we come to his theory of justice—-
taking this as an individual virtue—we find it either imper-
fectly developed, or else imperfectly set forth. Now, truth
itself seems expressible under the law of the Μεσότης ; it is
a balance of reticence with candour, suitable to times and
seasons. But the impulse to truth—the duty of not deceiving
—the relation of the will to this virtue, seems something quite
beyond the formula of the Mean.
So, also, with the other virtues specified ; humility, charity,
and forgiveness of injuries being Christian qualities, are not
described by Aristotle; but if we ask if they are ‘ mean
states,’ we find that they are all beautiful; and, in so far
as that, they all exhibit a certain grace and balance of the
human feelings. There is a point at which each might be
overstepped; humility must ποῦ be grovelling, nor charity
weak ; and forgiveness must at times give place to indigna-
tion. But there seems in them something which is also their
chief characteristic, and which is beyond and different from
this quality of the mean. Perhaps this might be expressed
in all of them as ‘self-abnegation. Now, here, we get a
P 2.

212 ESSAY IV.

different point of view from which to regard the virtues ; and
that is, the relation of Self, of the individual Will, of the
moral Subject to the objective in the sphere of action. This
point of view Aristotle’s principle does not touch. Mecorns
expresses the objective law of beauty in action, and, as cor-
relative with it, the critical moral faculty in our minds, but
the law of right in action as something binding on the moral
subject it leaves unexpressed. To some extent this want is
supplied by Aristotle’s doctrine of the τέλος, which raises a
beautiful action into something absolute, and makes it the
end of our being.

But still the theory of ‘ Duty’ cannot be said to exist in
Aristotle, and all that relates to the moral will is with him
only in its infancy. Meoorns, we have seen, expresses the
beauty of good acts, but leaves something in the goodness of
them unexpressed. In conclusion, we must remember that
Ἀρετή with Aristotle did not’mean quite the same as ‘ virtue’
with us; he meant the excellence, or perfection of man, just
as he spoke elsewhere of the Apery of a horse. It is no
wonder then that with his Greek views he resolved this into
a sort of moral beauty.

IV. We have now traced the application of some of his
leading philosophical forms in the Ethics of Aristotle. We
have observed how he takes the same point of view in dis-
cussing man as in treating of nature in general. End, form,
and actuality, are in human life, as in all nature, the good.
If we look into the Ethics of Eudemus, and into those three
books of his which are our only exposition of part of Aristotle’s
system, we see a carrying out of the same tendency, an effort
to bring the psychology of the Will under some broader and
more general law, and to express action and purpose under
the form of a logical syllogism. It is uncertain how far this
doctrine, even in its beginnings, is to be attributed to

THE DOCTRINE OF THE PRACTICAL SYLLOGISM. 213

Aristotle himself. But it is worth a passing consideration.
It is made the vehicle of some interesting discussions; and it
shows not only the sort of advance made by the Peripatetic
school, but also it lets us know what was the nature of the
psychology of the day. We have already observed that it is
only in the Eudemian books of the Ethics that this formula
occurs. But it is also set forth very explicitly in the treatise
De Motu Animalium, which has been placed among the works
of Aristotle, but which is now generally considered spurious,
and is in all probability a Peripatetic compendium.

For clearness’ sake, let us refer at once to the summary
account of the doctrine of the practical syllogism which is
given in the last-mentioned work.

The practical syllogism depends on this principle, that ‘ No
creature moves or acts, except with a view to some end.’ *”
What therefore the law of the so-called ‘ sufficient reason’ is
to a proposition of the understanding, that the law of the
final cause is to an act of the will. ‘ Under what conditions
of thought is it, °* asks the writer, ‘that a person at one
time acts, at another time does not act; at one time is put in
motion, at another time not? It seems to be much the same
case as with people thinking and reasoning about abstract
matter, only there the ultimate thing to be obtained is an
abstract proposition, for as soon as one has perceived the

two premises, one perceives the conclusion. But here the

57 Πάντα τὰ (Ga καὶ κινεῖ καὶ κινεῖται
ἕνεκά τινος, ὥστε τοῦτ᾽ ἔστιν αὐτοῖς
πάσης Tis κινήσεως πέρας, τὸ οὗ ἕνεκα.
—De Mot. An. vi. 2.

58 De Mot. An. vii. 1. Πῶς δὲ νοῶν
ὅτὲ μὲν πράττει ὅτὲ δ᾽ οὐ πράττει, καὶ
κινεῖται, ὁτὲ δ᾽ οὐ κινεῖται; Ἔοικε
παραπλησίως συμβαίνειν καὶ περὶ τῶν
ἀκινήτων διανοουμένοις καὶ συλλογιζο-
μένοις. ᾿Αλλ᾽ ἐκεῖ μὲν θεώγημα τὸ

τέλος (ὅταν γὰρ τὰς δύο προτάσεις
νοήσῃ, τὸ συμπέρασμα ἐνόησε καὶ συνέ-
θηκενῚ, ἐνταῦθα δ᾽ ἐκ τῶν δύο προτά-
σεων τὸ συμπέρασμα γίγνεται ἣ πρᾶξις,
οἷον ὅταν νοήσῃ ὅτι παντὶ βαδιστέον
ἀνθρώπῳ, αὐτὸς δ᾽ ἄνθρωπος, βαδίζει
εὐθέως, ἂν δ᾽ ὅτι οὐδενὶ βαδιστέον νῦν
ἀνθρώπῳ, αὐτὸς δ᾽ ἄνθρωπος, εὐθὺς
ἠρεμεῖ" καὶ ταῦτα ἄμφω πράττει, ἂν μή
τι κωλύῃ ἢ ἀναγκάζῃ.

214 ESSAY IV.

conclusion that arises from the two premises is the action ; as,
for instance, when one has perceived, that Every man ought
to walk, and I am a man, he walks immediately. Or again,
that No man ought now to walk, and I am a man, he stops
still immediately. Both these courses he adopts, provided he
be neither hindered nor compelled..... That the action is
the conclusion, is plain; but the premisses of the practical
syllogism are of two kinds, specifying either that something
is good, or again, how it is possible.’°? This then may
shortly be said to be the form of the practical syllogism :
either (1) Major Premiss. Such and such an action is
universally good.
Minor Premiss. This will be an action of the
kind.
Conclusion. Performance of the action.
or (2) Major Premiss. Such and such an end is de-
sirable.
Minor. This step will conduce to the end.
Conclusion. Taking of the step.
In other words, every action implies a sense of a general
principle, and the applying of that principle to a particular
case; or again, it implies desire for some end, coupled with
perception of the means necessary for attaining the end.
These two different ways of stating the practical syllogism
are in reality coincident; for assuming that all action is for
some end, the major premiss may be said always to contain
the statement of an end.® And again, any particular act,
which is the application of a moral principle, may be said to

8° De Mot. An. vii. 4. “Ort μὲν οὖν 6 Eth, vi. xii..10, Of yap συλλο-
ἡ πρᾶξις τὸ συμπέρασμα, φανερόν" ai | yiouol τῶν πρακτῶν ἀρχὴν ἔχοντές
δὲ προτάσεις αἱ ποιητικαὶ διὰ δύο εἰδῶν εἶσιν, ἐπειδὴ τοιόνδε τὸ τέλος καὶ τὸ
γίνονται, διά τε τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ καὶ διὰ τοῦ | ἄριστον.

δυνατοῦ.

THE DOCTRINE OF THE PRACTICAL SYLLOGISM. 215

be the means necessary to the realization of the principle.
‘ Temperance is good,’ may be called either a general prin-
ciple, or an expression of a desire for the habit of temperance.
‘To abstain now will be temperate,’ is an application of the
principle, or again, it is the -absolutely necessary means
_ toward the attainment of the habit. For ‘it is absurd,’ as
Aristotle tells us, ‘when one acts unjustly to talk of not
wishing to be unjust, or when one acts intemperately of not
wishing to be intemperate.’ δ᾽

The distinction between end and means, which plays so
important a part throughout the moral system of Aristotle,
comes out, as might be expected, very prominently in Book
II, where what must be called a sort of elementary psycho-
logy of the Will is given. But no application is there made-
of the scheme of the syllogism. Indeed a mathematical
formula seems used in Book III., where a logical formula is
in Book VI.: for in the former, the process of deliberation is
compared to the analysis of a diagram (Hth. mi. iii. 11); in
the latter, error of deliberation is spoken of as a false syl-
logism, where the right end is attained by a wrong means,
_ that is, by a false middle term.”

It is to Books VI. and VII. that we must look to see the
use made of the practical syllogism. It is applied, first, to
the explanation of the nature of Wisdom (φρόνησις), which is
shown to contain a universal and a particular element.**
2. To show the intuitive character of moral judgments and

δι Eth. τι. v. 13. Ἔτι δ᾽ ἄλογον τὸν |
ἀδικοῦντα μὴ βούλεσθαι ἄδικον εἶναι ἢ
τὸν ἀκολασταίνοντα ἀκόλαστον.

62 Eth. vi. ix. 5. ᾿Αλλ᾽ ἔστι καὶ
τούτου ψευδεῖ συλλογισμῷ τυχεῖν, καὶ ὃ
μὲν δεῖ ποιῆσαι τυχεῖν, δι οὗ δ᾽ οὔ,
ἀλλὰ ψευδῆ τὸν μέσον ὅρον εἶναι.

55. Eth, γι. vii. 7. Οὐδ᾽ ἐστὶν ἣ

φρόνησις τῶν καθόλου μόνον, ἀλλὰ δεῖ
καὶ τὰ καθ᾽ ἕκαστα γνωρίζειν, κιτιλ.
VL vill. 7. Ἔτι ἡ ἁμαρτία ἢ περὶ τὸ
καθόλου ἐν τῷ βουλεύσασθαι ἣ περὶ τὸ
καθ᾽ ἕκαστον" ἢ γὰρ ὅτι πάντα τὰ βα-
ρύσταθμα ὕδατα φαῦλα, ἢ ὅτι τοδὶ
βαρύσταθμον.

216 ESSAY IV.

knowledge. 4, To prove the necessary and inseparable
connexion of wisdom and virtue.® 4. In answer to the
question, how is it possible to know the good, and yet act
contrary to one’s knowledge? In short, how is incontinence
possible? This phenomenon is explained in two ways; either
the incontinent man does not apply a minor premiss to his
universal principle, and so the principle remains dormant,
and his knowledge of the good remains merely implicit ; or,
again, desire constructs a sort of syllogism of its own, in-
consistent with, though not directly contradictory to, the
arguments of the moral reason.®® Incontinence therefore
implies knowing the good, and at the same time not knowing
it. It would be impossible to act contrary to a complete
syllogism which applied the knowledge of the good to a case
in point; for the necessary conclusion to such a syllogism
would be good action. But there is broken knowledge and
moral obliviousness in the mind of the incontinent man, and
the practical syllogism gives a formula for expressing this.
The foregoing references serve to show, that in itself this
formula is only a way of stating certain psychological facts.
The question whether people do really go through a syllogism
in or before every action, is much Jike the question whether
we always reason in syllogisms. Most reasonings seem to be
from particular to particular, that is to say, by analogy; and
yet some sort of universal conception, if it be only the sense
of the uniformity of nature, lies at the bottom of all in-
ference. And so too in action, most acts seem prompted by
the instinct of the moment, and yet some general “idea, as,
for instance, the desire of the creature for its proper good,

64 Eth, vi. xi. 4. Καὶ 6 νοῦς τῶν 86 Kth. vi. iii. 6. Ἔτι ἐπεὶ... οὐκ
ἐσχάτων ἐπ᾽ ἀμφότερα, K.T.A. ἐνεργεῖ. Vil. iii, 9,10. Ἔτι καὶ ὧδε...
6 Eth. vi. xii, το. Ἔστι δ᾽ H φρό- | κατὰ συμβεβηκός...
νησις.. - ἀρχάς.

THE DOCTRINE OF THE PRACTICAL SYLLOGISM. 217

might be said to lie behind this instinct. This theory
acknowledges™ that the mind constantly passes over one of
the premisses of the practical syllogism, as being obvious;
that we act often instantaneously, without hesitation, just
Thus it is
merely a way of putting it, to say that we act from a syllogism.

because we see an object of desire before us.

But granting the formula, it becomes immediately a powerful
analytic instrument. It seems to suggest and clear the way —
for a set of ulterior questions, in which most important results
would be involved. For now that action has been as it were
caught, put to death, and dissected, and so reduced to the
level of abstract reasoning, it seems that we have only to
deal with its disjointed parts in order to know the whole
theory of human Will. We have only to ask what is the’
nature of the major premiss, and how obtained? What is
the nature of the minor premiss, and how obtained? The
answer to these questions in the Ethics is not very explicit.
This is exactly one of the points on which a conclusive theory
seems to have been least arrived at. With regard to our
possession of general principles of action, there appear to be
three different accounts given in different places.

(1) They are innate and intuitive (vi. xi. 4, VII. vi. 6, 7).

(2) They are evolved from experience of particulars (v1.
viii. 6).

(3) They depend on the moral character (v1. xii. 10, vir.
viii. 4).

8 De Mot. An. vii. 4, 5. “Ὥσπερ
δὲ τῶν ἐρωτώντων ἔνιοι, οὕτω τὴν
ἑτέραν πρότασιν τὴν δήλην οὐδ᾽ ἡ διά-
νοια ἐφιστᾶσα σκοπεῖ οὐδέν - οἷον εἶ τὸ
βαδίζειν ἀγαθὺν ἀνθρώπῳ, ὅτι αὐτὸς
ἄνθρωπος, οὐκ ἐνδιατρίβει. Διὸ καὶ ὅσα
μὴ λογισάμενοι πράττομεν, ταχὺ πράτ-
τομεν. -Ὅταν γὰρ ἐνεργήσῃ ἢ τῇ αἰ-

σθήσει πρὸς τὸ οὗ ἕνεκα ἢ τῇ φαντασίᾳ
ἢ τῷ νῷ, οὗ ὀρέγεται, εὐθὺς ποιεῖ" ἀντ᾽
ἐρωτήσεως γὰρ ἢ νοήσεως 7 τῆς ὀρέξεως
γίνεται ἐνέργεια. Ποτέον μοι, ἣ ἐπι-
θυμία λέγει" τοδὶ δὲ ποτόν, ἣ αἴσθησις
εἶπεν ἢ ἢ φαντασία ἢ ὃ νοῦς" εὐθὺς
πίνει.

218 ESSAY IV.

These three accounts are not however incompatible with
one another. For as in explaining the origin of speculative
principles (Post. An. τι. xix.) Aristotle seems to attribute them
to reason as the cause and experience as the condition; so in
regard to moral principles, we might say that they were per-
ceived by an intuitive faculty, but under the condition of a
certain bearing of the moral character, which itself arises out
of and consists in particular moral experiences. This recon-
ciliation of the statements is not made for us in the Ethies.
There the different points of view stand apart, and there is
something immature about the whole theory. So too with
regard to the minor premiss in action; on the one hand we
are told that it is a matter of perception (VI. viii. 9). as if it
belonged to everybody; on the other hand we are told that
the apprehension of these particulars is exactly what distin-
guishes the wise man.®* But it is unnecessary to attempt to
go beyond the lead of the Ethics in answering these questions,
for we should ourselves most probably state them in an entirely
different way.

We see in the practical syllogism a limited and imperfect
attempt to graft on a logical formula upon Aristotle’s system.
We also see in it a still more important fact, namely, the
progress of psychology, and the tendency now manifesting
itself to give attention to the phenomena of the Will. The
manner in which the theory is stated, abstractedly, and with
a full belief in logical formule, rather than an appeal to life
and consciousness,—shows something of the scholastic spirit.
To reduce action to a syllogism dogmatically is a piece of
scholasticism. Plato would have put it in this way for once,
and would then have passed on to other modes of expression.
But it is remarkable that this formula is one of those that

68. Πρακτικός γε 6 φρόνιμος" τῶν γὰρ ἐσχάτων τις. Eth, vu. ii. 5.

THE DOCTRINE OF THE PRACTICAL SYLLOGISM. 219

remains most completely stamped upon the language of man-
kind. When we talk of ‘acting on principle,’ or speak of a
man’s ‘ principles,’ perhaps we do not reflect that this expres-
sion is a remnant of Aristotle’s practical syllogism. “ Prin-
ciple’ is no other than the ἀρχή or major premiss. There is
however this difference, that while with the Peripatetics the
major premiss contained the idea of a good to be desired for
its own sake (τέλος), ‘ principle’ often implies an expression
of duty, that is to say, rather that which is right in itself,
than that which is desirable in itself.

ESSA Y..V.

---- αςκ----

On the Physical and Theological Ideas in the Ethies
of Aristotle.

RISTOTLE’S limited and separate mode of treating the
problem which he has assigned to himself in this
treatise, his exclusive adherence to an ethical (or, as he would ᾿
call it, a political) point of view, and his rejection of many
great questions’ connected with the nature of man, because
he conceived them to belong to other sciences, might seem to
exonerate us from the task of discussing here his opinions on
the gravest matters of all. But yet it is impossible that an
ethical treatise should be written uncoloured by the writer’s
view of nature, the Deity, and the human soul. And
accordingly we find more than one passage in this work of
Aristotle which really depends on his views of those subjects.
If then we make no attempt to understand parts of his philo-
sophy that lie outside his Hthics, we shall not only miss that
which in the mind of Aristotle must have been the setting of
the whole piece, but also we shall be in danger of substituting
our own point of view for his, and thus wrongly explaining
many of his allusions. In the present Essay it may be useful
to collect a few passages from the different works of Aristotle,
which may throw light upon the general bearing of his mind,
though it would be out of place, if indeed it were possible, to

1 For instance, the metaphysical {| 1 ix. 3. The physical aspect of the
question concerning the good, Hth.1. | question about friendship, vim. i. 7,
vi. 13. The question of Providence, | &c.

ARISTOTLE’S CONCEPTION OF NATURE. 221

give anything like a dogmatic or explicit account of his
opinions, with regard to many of which we are not in a
position to form a certain estimate.

The most interesting notices of his general views of nature
may be gathered from the second book of Aristotle’s Physical
Lectures. He there speaks of ‘ nature” as ‘a principle of
motion and rest implanted and essentially inherent in things,
whether that motion be locomotion, increase, decay, or altera-
tion.’ ‘It is absurd* to try to prove the existence of nature ;
to do so would be to ignore the distinction between self-
evident and not self-evident things.’ ‘ Nature* may be said
in one way to be the simplest and most deep-lying substratum
of matter in things possessing their own principle of motion
and change; in another way it may be called the form and
law of such things.’ That is, nature is both matter or poten-
tiality and form or actuality. It is also the transition from
one to the other. ‘ Nature,’ says Aristotle, ‘spoken of as
creation is the path to nature.’ Again, ‘ Nature® is the end
or final cause.’ In relation to this system of causation, it
remains to ask what place is to be assigned to chance or the
fortuitous, to necessity and to reason? ‘Some? deny the
existence of chance altogether, saying that there is a definite

cause for all things.’ ‘ Others,’ again, have gone so far as

2 Nat. Ause. τι. i. 2. ‘Qs οὔσης τῆς | ἄλλον δὲ τρόπον ἣ μορφὴ καὶ τὸ εἶδος

φύσεως ἀρχῆς τινὸς καὶ αἰτίας τοῦ κι-
νεῖσθαι καὶ ἠρεμεῖν ἐν ᾧ ὑπάρχει πρώτως
καθ᾽ αὑτὸ καὶ μὴ κατὰ συμβεβηκός.

3 Nat. Ause. τι. 1.4. ‘As δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἢ
φύσις πειρᾶσθαι δεικνύναι, γελοῖον"... .
οὗ δυναμένου κρίνειν ἐστὶ τὸ δι’ αὑτὸ
καὶ μὴ 30 αὑτὸ γνώριμον.

4 Nat. Ausc. τι. i. 8. Ἕνα μὲν οὖν
τρόπον οὕτως ἣ φύσις λέγεται, ἣ πρώτη
ἑκάστῳ ὑποκειμένη ὕλη τῶν ἐχόντων ἐν
αὑτοῖς ἀρχὴν κινήσεως καὶ μεταβολῆς,

τὺ κατὰ τὸν λόγον.

8 Nat: Aus. Ἅτοῖ 11. Ἔπει δ' ἢ
φύσις ἢ λεγομένη ὡς γένεσις 636s ἐστιν
εἰς φύσιν.

5. Nat. Ausc. τι. li. 8. Ἢ δὲ φύσις
τέλος καὶ οὗ ἕνεκα.

7 Nat. Ausc. τι. iv. 2. Ἔνιοι γὰρ
καὶ εἰ ἔστιν ἢ μὴ ἀποροῦσιν" οὐδὲν yap
γίνεσθαι ἀπὸ τύχης φασίν, ἀλλὰ πάντων
εἶναί τι αἴτιον ὡρισμένον.

8 Nat. Ausc. τι. iv. ς. Εἰσὶ δέ τινες

222 ESSAY Y.

to assign the fortuitous as the cause of the existence of the
heaven and the whole universe.’ ‘Others® believe in the
existence of chance, but say that it is something mysterious
and supernatural, which baffles the human understanding.’
With none of these opinions does Aristotle seem exactly to
agree. He will not hear of attributing the existence of ‘the
heaven 1 and the divinest things that meet our eyes’ to blind
chance. Again, while allowing the existence of chance as an
undefined or incalculable principle of causation, and awarding
to it a certain sphere, namely, things contingent, he does not
appear to have believed in anything supernatural attaching
to it.
sidering ‘chance’ to be only a species of the latter, and re-

He distinguishes ‘ the fortuitous’ from ‘chance,’ con-
stricted to the sphere of human actions.'! Asa proof of this
he alleges that ‘ good fortune is held to be the same or nearly

?

so with happiness;’ now happiness is a kind of action, 7.é,

‘ doing well.’ Where there is no action, there is no chance.
Hence no inanimate object, nor beast, nor child, does any-
thing by chance, because it has no choice, nor have these
either good or bad fortune, except metaphorically, in the
same sense that Protarchus said ‘ the stones of the altar were
The fortuitous and

chance both are merely accidental, and not essential principles

fortunate, because they were honoured.’

of causation ; they therefore presuppose the essential, since the
accidental is posterior to and dependent on the essential.
Therefore!? of whatever things chance may be the cause, it

οἵ καὶ τοὐρανοῦ τοῦδε καὶ τῶν κοσμικῶν
πάντων αἰτιῶνται τὸ αὐτόματον.

® Nat. Ausc, τι. iv. 8. Εἰσὶ δέ τινες
οἷς δοκεῖ εἶναι αἰτία μὲν ἡ τύχη, ἄδηλος
δὲ ἀνθρωπίνῃ διανοίᾳ ὡς θεῖόν τι οὖσα
καὶ δαιμονιώτερον.

10 Nat. Ausc. τι. iv. 6. Τὸν οὐρανὸν
καὶ τὰ θειότατα τῶν φανερῶν.

1 Nat. Ausc. u. vi. 1. Awd καὶ

ἀνάγκη περὶ τὰ πρακτὰ εἶναι τὴν τύχην"
σημεῖον δ᾽ ὅτι δοκεῖ ἤτοι ταὐτὸν εἶναι τῇ
εὐδαιμονίᾳ ἣ εὐτυχία ἢ ἐγγύς, ἣ δ᾽
εὐδαιμονία πρᾶξίς τις" εὐπραξία γάρ.
This passage was probably written
previously to the Ethical researches
of Aristotle.

2 Nat. Ause. u. vi. 8. Ὕστερον
ἄρα τὸ αὐτόματον καὶ ἣ τύχη Kal νοῦ

ARISTOTLE’S CONCEPTION OF NATURE. 223

necessarily follows that nature and reason, which are essential
causes, should be presupposed, that they should be in short
the causes of the universe.

Has necessity, then, a conditional 15 or an absolute sway in
relation to nature? To say that it had an absolute sway,
would be equivalent to assigning as the cause: of the existence
of a wall that the heavy stones must be put at the bottom,
and the light stones and earth a-top. In reality, however, this
necessity in regard to the wall is only a necessary '* condition,
not a cause, of the making of the wall. Given a certain end,
and certain means to this are necessary; thus far and no
But the
end is the real cause, the necessary means are a mere subor-

farther has necessity a sway in regard to nature.

dinate condition.

Lastly, What is the position of design or intelligence in
relation to nature? Some reduce all nature to a mechanical
principle ; if they recognize any other principle at all (as
_Empedocles spoke of ‘love and hatred,’ and Anaxagoras of
‘reason’), they just touch it and let it drop.!° They say it
rains, not that the corn may grow, but from a mechanical
necessity, because the vapours are cooled as they are drawn
up, and being cooled are compelled to fall again, and by
‘Why should it
not also be by accident and coincidence, they ask, that in the

coincidence this gives growth to the corn.!®

teeth of animals, for instance, the front teeth grow sharp

καὶ φύσεως" ὥστ᾽ εἰ ὅτι μάλιστα. τοῦ
οὐρανοῦ αἴτιον τὸ αὐτόματον, ἀνάγκη
πρότερον νοῦν καὶ φύσιν αἰτίαν εἶναι καὶ
ἄλλων πολλῶν καὶ τοῦδε πάντος.

15 Nat. Ατι80. τι. ix. 1. Τὸ δ᾽ ἐξ
ἀνάγκης πότερον ἐξ ὑποθέσεως ὑπάῤχει
ἢ καὶ ἁπλῶς ; Νῦν μὲν γὰρ οἴονται τὸ ἐξ
ἀνάγκης εἶναι ἐν τῇ γενέσει, ὥσπερ ἂν
εἴτις τὸν τοῖχον ἐξ ἀνάγκης γεγενῆσθαι
νομίζοι, ὅτι τὰ μὲν βαρέα κάτω πέφυκε

φέρεσθαι τὰ δὲ κοῦφα ἐπιπολῆς.

1 Nat. Ausc. τι. ix. 2. Οὐκ ἄνευ
μὲν τῶν ἀναγκαίαν ἐχόντων τὴν φύσιν,
οὗ μέντοι γε διὰ ταῦτα ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ὡς ὕλην,
ἀλλ᾽ ἕνεκά του.

18 Nat. Ausc. τι. viii. 1. Καὶ γὰρ
ἐὰν ἄλλην αἰτίαν εἴπωσιν, ὅσον ἁψάμε-
μοι χαίρειν ἐῶσιν, 6 μὲν τὴν φιλίαν καὶ
τὸ νεῖκος, ὃ δὲ τὸν νοῦν.

16 Nat. Ause. τι. viii. 2.

224 ESSAY V.

and suitable for cutting, while the hind teeth grow broad and
suitable for grinding ?’? Hence their theory is, that whenever
blind necessity did not hit by coincidence on results as perfect

_as if they had been designed, its products perished, while the

lucky hits were preserved; and thus Empedocles says that
whole races of monsters perished!’ before a perfect man was
attained.

Aristotle says, ‘It is impossible that this theory can be
true ;'* our whole idea of chance and coincidence is some-
thing irregular, out of the course of nature, while nature is
the regular and the universal. If, then, the products of
nature are either according to coincidence or design, it
follows that they must be according to design. We see how
a house is built ; if that house were made by nature, it would
be made in exactly the same way, 7.6. with design, and accord-
ing to a regular plan. The same adaptation of means to
ends we see in the procedure of the animals, which makes
some men doubt whether the spider, for instance, and the
ant, do not work by the light of reason or an analogous
faculty. In plants, moreover, manifest traces of a fit and
wisely planned organization appear. The swallow makes its
nest and the spider its web by nature, and yet with a design
and end ; and the roots of the plant grow downwards and not
upwards, for the sake of providing it nourishment in the
best way. It is plain, then, that end and design is a cause
of natural things. And if nature be figured both as matter
and as end, we may surely regard the matter as a mere
means to an end, and the end itself as really and essentially
the cause. The failures of nature, the abortions and monsters
which Empedocles spoke of a8 if they were the normal

7 Nat. Ause. τι. vill. 4. Ὅσα δὲ μὴ οὕτως, ἀπώλετο καὶ ἀπόλλυται, καθάπερ
᾿Εμπεδοκλῆς λέγει τὰ βουγενῆ ἀνδρόπρωρα. 156. Nat. Ausc. τι. viii. ς--το.

ARISTOTLE’S CONCEPTION OF NATURE. 225

products of nature, are in reality its mere exceptions. They
are mistakes and errors, exactly analogous to the failures in
art. It is absurd to doubt the existence of design because we
cannot see deliberation actually taking place. Art does not
deliberate. If the art of ship-building were inherent in the
wood, ship-building would be a work of nature. Perhaps
the best conception we can have of nature is, if we think of
a person acting as his own doctor and curing himself.’ 19

On these views of Aristotle’s several observations at once
suggest themselves. They contain a recognition quite as
strong as that in Paley’s Natural Theology of the marks of
design in creation. But we see that it is possible to recognize
these marks of design, and to be led by them to a different
view from that of Paley; that Aristotle does not discover in Ὁ
them, as it were, the works of a watch, and proceed imme-
diately to infer the existence of a watchmaker; but rather
that the products of nature appear to him according to the
analogy of a watch that makes itself. If we ask, how it is
that the watch makes itself? Aristotle would reply, that all
things strive after the good; that on the-idea of the good, as
seen and desired, the whole heavens and all nature depend.
Aristotle views the world with a kind of natural optimism.
He says (Hth. τ. ix. 5), ‘ All things in nature are constituted
in the best possible way.’ If we ask, what is it that perceives
the good—what gives to nature this eye of reason to perceive
an idea and to strive after it?—-on this head Aristotle is
not explicit. He says there is something divine in nature.
¢ Even” in the lower creatures there is a natural good above
their own level, which strives after the good proper for them.’

ἀρ,

19 Nat. Ausc. τι. vill. 15. Μάλιστα | φαύλοις ἐστί τι φυσικὸν ἀγαθὸν κρεῖττον
δὲ δῆλον ὅταν τις ἰατρεύῃ αὐτὸς ἑαυτόν: ἢ Kal? αὑτά, ὃ ἐφίεται τοῦ οἰκείου ἀγα-
τούτῳ γὰρ ἔοικεν ἣ φύσις. θοῦ. A similar doctrine is given in

2 Eth. x. ii. 4. Ἴσως δὲ καὶ ἐν τοῖς | the Eudemian Book, vu. xiii. 6.

Q

226 ESSAY Υ.

We see the indistinctness of this phrase. He speaks of ‘the
natural good’ striving after ‘their proper good.’ If it be said
that Aristotle’s theory is Pantheism, this would not be exactly
true, for Aristotle does not identify God with nature, nor
deprive Him of personality. But what the relation is of
‘the divine’ in nature to God, it must be confessed that
Aristotle does not make clear. We only see that Aristotle,
while tracing design, beauty, and harmony in the world, is
not led to figure to himself God as the artist or architect of
this fair order, but as standing in a different relation to it.
If we ask, how can the beginning be accounted for, how did
the watch begin to make itself? Aristotle would say, in
looking back we do not find in the past merely the elements
(δύναμι5) of a watch, we find of necessity the idea and the
actuality (ἐνέργεια) of the watch itself (see above, Ρ. 189).
A perfect watch must always precede the imperfect one. It
is impossible to think of nature as having had a beginning.
‘ The universe is eternal’ (Hth. m1. iii. 3). * The parts*! may
be regarded as changeable, but the whole cannot change, it
is increate and indestructible’ (De Colo, τ. x. 10).

One of the most interesting points to notice in this part of
the subject is the way in which Aristotle regards man in re-
lation to nature as a whole. His view appears to be twofold;
on the one hand he regards man as a part of nature. He
says,” * You may call a man the product of a man, or of the
sun.’ He looks at the principle of human life as belonging
to the whole chain of organized existence. Man has much
in common with the animals and the plants. On the other
hand, he looks at the human reason and will as a principle of
causation, which is not part of hature, but distinct. ‘ Man,’

21 “Oar εἰ τὸ ὅλον σῶμα συνεχὲς ὃν | ὅ κόσμος γίγνοιτο καὶ φθείροιτο, ἀλλ᾽ αἱ
ὁτὲ μὲν οὕτως ὁτὲ δ᾽ ἐκείνως διατίθεται | διαθέσεις αὐτοῦ.
καὶ διακεκόσμηται, ἣ δὲ τοῦ ὅλου σύ- 22. Nat. Ausc. τι. ii. 11. Ανθρωπος
στασίς ἐστι κόσμος καὶ οὐρανός, οὐκ ἂν | γὰρ ἄνθρωπον γεννᾷ καὶ ἥλιος.

ARISTOTLE’S CONCEPTION OF NATURE. 227

he says, ‘is the cause of his own actions.’ Thus he classifies
causation into ‘nature, necessity, chance, and again reason
and all that comes from man’ (th. 1. iii. 7). ‘In art
and in action the efficient cause rests with the maker or doer,
and not as in nature with the thing done.’ Aristotle’s Ethical
theory depends ‘on this principle, that the moral qualities are
not by nature, 7.6. self-caused, but produced in us in accord-
ance with the law of our nature, by the exercise of will, by
care, cultivation, and in short the use of the proper means.
We have already observed (see above, p. 108) that one of the
first steps of Grecian Ethics, as exhibited in the philosophy
of Archelaus and Democritus, consisted in severing man and
human society from the general framework of nature. This .
Aristotle follows out in his Ethics, and he seems so easily to
content himself with the practical assumption of freedom for
man, as to give a narrow and unphilosophical appearance
to part of his writing.

While, however, assuming freedom for human actions,
Aristotle seems to do s6, not so much from a sense of the
deep importance of morality, but rather from an idea of the
slightness of man and of his actions in comparison with nature,
and what he would call the ‘ diviner parts’ of the universe.
There is a strange passage in his Metaphysics (x1. x. 2-3),
which is obscure indeed, but it seems to bear on the question.
He says,** “ΑἸ! things are in some sort ordered and har-
monized together, fishes of the sea, birds of the air, and plants

that grow, though not in an equal degree. It is not true to

23 Eth. vi ΓΗ 4. ἐλευθέροις ἥκιστα ἔξεστιν ὅ τι ἔτυχε

24 Πάντα δὲ συντέτακταί πως, ἀλλ᾽...
οὐχ ὁμοίως, καὶ πλωτὰ καὶ πτηνὰ καὶ
φυτά: ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ οὕτως ἔχει ὥστε μὴ
εἶναι θατέρῳ πρὸς θάτερον μηθέν, ἀλλ᾽
ἐστίτι. Πρὸς μὲν γὰρ ἕν ἅπαντα συν-
τέτακται, ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ ἐν οἰκίᾳ τοῖς

ποιεῖν, ἀλλὰ πάντα i) τὰ πλεῖστα τέτα-
κται, τοῖς δὲ ἀνδραπόδοις καὶ τοῖς θηρίοις
μικρὸν τὸ εἰς τὸ κοινόν, τὸ δὲ πολὺ ὅ
τι ἔτυχεν" τοιαύτη γὰρ ἑκάστου ἀρχὴ
αὐτῶν ἣ φύσις ἐστίν.

ῳ 2

228 ESSAY Y.,

say that there is no relation between one thing and another ;
there is such a relation. All things are indeed arranged
together towards one common centre ; but as in a household
the masters are by no means at liberty to do what they please,
but most things, if not all, are appointed for them, while the
slaves and the dogs and cats do but little towards the common
weal, and mostly follow their own fancies. For so the nature
of each of the different classes prompts them to act.’ This
curious metaphor seems to represent the universe as a house-
hold. The sun and stars and all the heaven are the gentle-
men and ladies, whose higher aims and more important
positions in life prevent any time being left to a merely
arbitrary disposal ; all is filled up with a round of the noblest
duties and occupations. Other parts of the universe are like
the inferior members of the family, the slaves and domestic
animals, who for most part of the day can sleep in the sun,
and pursue their own devices. Under this last category it
seems almost as if man would be here ranked. Aristotle does
not regard the unchanging and perpetual motion of the
heavenly bodies as a bondage, but rather as a harmonized and
blessed life. All that is arbitrary (ὅπως ἔτυχε) in the human
will, Aristotle does not consider a privilege. And man (espe-
cially in regard of his actions, the object of φρόνησις and
πολιτική) he does not think the highest part of the universe ;
he thinks the sun and stars” ‘ far more divine.’ This opinion
is no doubt connected with a philosophical feeling of the
inferiority of the sphere of the contingent, in which action
consists, and with which chance intermixes, to the sphere of
the absolute and the eternal. In this feeling Plato shared,
but in Plato’s mind there was set against it, what Aristotle
seems deficient in, a deep sense of the even eternal import

2 Eth, yi. vii. 4.

ARISTOTLE’S THEOLOGY. 229

of morality. To the heavenly bodies both Plato and Aristotle
appear to have attributed consciousness, which explains in
some degree the sayings of Aristotle. We see, however, that
there was necessarily something peculiar, contrasted with our
views, in the way Aristotle approached Ethics. This no doubt
his actual researches in Ethics led him to modify. But he
never would have accepted the saying, ‘In the world there
is nothing great but man; in man there is nothing great
but mind’—and as we may surely go on to add, ‘in mind
there is nothing great but what is moral.’

We can never, perhaps, adequately comprehend Aristotle’s
philosophical conception of the Deity. The expression of his
views that has come down to us seems so incomplete, and
contains so much that is apparently contradictory, that we are .
in great danger of doing Aristotle injustice. Even had we a
fuller and clearer expression, there might be yet something
behind this remaining unexpressed, as an intuition in the
mind of the philosopher. The first thing we may notice is
Aristotle’s idea of ‘ Theology’ as a science. In classifying the
speculative sciences, he says (Metaphys. x. vii. 7), ‘Physics
are concerned with things that have a principle of motion
in themselves ; mathematics speculate on permanent, but not
transcendental and self-existent things; and there is another
science separate from these two, which treats of that which is
immutable and transcendental, if indeed there exists such a
substance, as we shall endeavour to show that there does.
This transcendental and pérmanent substance, if it exists at
all, must surely be the sphere of the divine—it must be the
first and highest principle. Hence it follows that there are
three kinds of speculative science—physics, mathematics, and
theology. In the same strain he speaks in the succeeding
book (Metaphys. x1. viii. 19), as if the popular polytheism of
Greece were a mere perverted fragment of this deeper and

230 ESSAY Υ.

truer ‘Theology,’ which he conceives to have been, in all
probability, perfected often before in the infinite lapse of
time, and then again lost. He says,”° ‘The tradition has
come down from very ancient times, being left in a mythical
garb to succeeding generations, that these (the heavens) are
gods, and that the divine embraces the whole of nature, And
round this idea other mythical statements have been agglo-
merated with a view to influencing the vulgar, and for
political and moral expediency; as, for instance, they feign
that these gods have human shape and are like certain of the
animals; and other stories of the kind are added on. Now,
if any one will separate from all this the first point alone—
namely, that they thought the first and deepest grounds of
existence to be gods—he may consider it a divine utterance.
In all probability, every art and science and philosophy has
been over and over again discovered to the farthest extent
possible, and then again lost, and one may conceive these
opinions to have been preserved to us as a sort of fragment
of those lost philosophies. We see then to some extent the
relation of the popular belief to those ancient opinions.’
Aristotle having thus penetrated to a conception, which he
imagined to lie behind the external and unessential forms of
the Grecian religion, that is, the conception of a deep and

26 Παραδέδοται δὲ παρὰ τῶν ἀρχαίων
καὶ παμπαλαίων ἐν μύθου σχήματι κατα-
λελειμμένα τοῖς ὕστερον ὅτι ᾿θεοί τέ
εἰσιν οὗτοι καὶ περιέχει τὸ θεῖον τὴν
ὅλην φύσιν. Ta δὲ λοιπὰ μυθικῶς ἤδη
προσῆκται πρὸς τὴν πειθὼ τῶν πολλῶν
καὶ πρὸς τὴν εἰς τοὺς νόμους καὶ τὸ
συμφέρον χρῆσιν: ἀνθρωποειδεῖς τε γὰρ
τούτους καὶ τῶν ἄλλων ζῴων ὁμοίους
τισὶ λέγουσι, καὶ τούτοιβ ἕτερα ἀκόλουθα
καὶ παραπλήσια τοῖς εἰρημένοις. “Oy
εἴ τις χωρίσας αὐτὸ λάβοι μόνον τὸ
πρῶτον, ὅτι θεοὺς ᾧοντο τὰς πρώτας

οὐσίας εἶναι, θείως ἂν εἰρῆσθαι νομίσειεν,
καὶ κατὰ τὸ εἰκὸς πολλάκις εὑρημένης
εἰς τὸ δυνατὸν ἑκάστης καὶ τέχνης καὶ
φιλοσοφίας καὶ πάλιν φθειρομένων καὶ
ταύτας τὰς δόξας ἐκείνων οἷον λείψανα
περισεσῶσθαι μέχρι τοῦ νῦν. Ἢ μὲν
οὖν πάτριος δόξα καὶ ἣ παρὰ τῶν πρώ-
τῶν ἐπὶ τοσοῦτον ἡμῖν φανερὰ μόνον.
Cf. Pol. π. viii. 21, and Plato, Politicus,
270, Laws, 677 A: Τὸ πολλὰς ἀνθρώπων
φθορὰς γεγονέναι κατακλυσμοῖς τε καὶ
νόσοις καὶ ἄλλοις πολλοῖς, ἐν οἷς βραχύ
τι τῶν ἀνθρώπων λείπεσθαι γένος.

ARISTOTLE’S THEOLOGY. 231

divine ground for all existence, proceeds now to develop it
for himself, and in doing so, he lays down the following posi-
tions (Metaphys. x1. vi.—x.).

(1) It is necessary to conceive an eternal immutable exist-
ence, an actuality prior to all potentiality. According to this
view, all notions of the world having sprung out of chaos
must be abandoned. God is here represented as the eternal,
unchangeable form of the whole, immaterial (ἄνευ δυνάμεως),
and free from all relation to time.

(2) With this idea it is necessary to couple that of the
source of motion, else we shall have merely a principle of im-
mobility. We must therefore conceive of a ceaseless motion ;
this motion must be circular, no mere figure of philosophy,”’
but actually taking place. Thus the highest heaven with its
revolutions must be looked on as eternal. In this we make
a transition to the world of time and space. The succession

_of seasons and years flows everlastingly from the motion of
the circumference of the heavens. It would seem as if we
were thus attributing local and material conditions to the
Deity himself, if we say that God moves the world by moving
the circumference of the heaven. But here, again, Aristotle
is saved from this conclusion by merging physical ideas into
metaphysical. He says, ‘The mover’ of all things moves
them without being moved, being an eternal substance and
actuality, and he moves all things in the following way :—
the object of reason and of desire, though unmoved, is the
cause of motion.’ =

(3) God has been thus represented as the cause of all
things by being the object of contemplation and desire to
nature and the world. In this doctrine, as before mentioned,

7 Kad ἔστι" τι ἀεὶ κινούμενον κίνησιν | οὗ λόγῳ μόνον GAN ἔῤγῳ δῆλον. X1vii. 1.
ἄπαυστον, αὕτη 8 ἣ κύκλῳ’ καὶ τοῦτο 38. See above, p. 172, note.

232 ESSAY V. >

there is something unexplained; for to attribute thought and
rational desire, as well as the power of motion, to nature,
seems really to place the Deity in nature as a thinking
subject, as well as outside nature in the form of the object of
thought and wish. Aristotle, however, does not explicitly do
so; in relation to nature he seems to represent God only as
an object, and he now passes on to depict God in relation to
Himself as a subject, as a personal being, possessthg in Him-
self conscious”? happiness of the most exalted Mind, such as
we can frame but an indistinct notion of, by the analogy of
our own highest and most blessed moods. This happiness is
everlasting, and God ‘has or rather is’ continuous and eternal
life and duration.®?

(4) Aristotle next reverts to the impersonal view of God,
and asks whether these principles are one or manifold?
Whether there be one highest heaven or more than one?
He concludes that there can be one only, for multeity implies
matter, and the highest idea or form of the world must be
absolutely immaterial.*!

(5) But again, figuring to ourselves God as thought; on
what does that thought think?
nothing is a contradiction in terms; thought with an external:
object is determined by that object. But God as the
supremest and best cannot be altered or determined by an
external object. With God, object and subject are one; the
thought of God is the thinking upon thought.*?

(6) Lastly, how is the supreme good of the world to be

Thought thinking upon

29 See above, p. 194, note.

30 Metaphys. x1. vii. 9. Καὶ ζωὴ δέ
γε ὑπάρχει: ἣ γὰρ vod ἐνέργεια (ζωή,
ἐκεῖνος δὲ ἡ ἐνέργεια" ἐνέργεια δὲ ἣ καθ᾽
αὑτὴν ἐκείνου ζωὴ ἀρίστη καὶ ἀΐδιο5"
φαμὲν δὲ τὸν θεὸν εἶναι ζῶον ἀΐδιον
ἄριστον, ὥστε ζωὴ καὶ αἰὼν συνεχὴς καὶ

ἀΐδιος ὑπάρχει τῷ θεῷ. τοῦτο γὰρ ὃ θεός.
8! Metaphys. xt. viii. 18. Td δὲ τί
ἣν εἶναι οὐκ ἔχει ὕλην τὸ πρῶτὸν" ἐντε-
λέχεια γάρ. :
% Metaphys. xt. ix. 4. Αὑτὸν ἄρα
νοεῖ, εἴπερ ἐστὶ τὸ κράτιστον" καὶ ἔστιν
n νόησις νοήσεως νόησις.

4

ARISTOTLE’S THEOLOGY. 233

represented—whether as existing apart from the world, like
the general of an army, or as inherent in the world, like
the discipline of an army ?** In other words, are we to hold
that the Deity is immanent or transcendent? Aristotle gives
no direct answer to this question ; but seems to say that God
must be conceived of both ways, just as the army implies
both discipline and general, and the discipline is for the sake
of the general. In these speculations we see an attempt
made by Puistotle to approach from various sides the
metaphysical aspect of the existence of the Deity. All meta-
physical views of God are entirely foreign to most minds.
The profound difficulty of them may be appreciated, if we
- set before ourselves this question, for instance, If the Deity
be immaterial, how can He act upon a material universe ?
Aristotle does not appear to make any endeavour to obtain a
complete view, or to reconcile the contradictions between his
_ different statements,—between the impersonal view of God
as the chief good and object of desire to the world, and the
personal view of Him as a thinking subject. He acknowledges
these two sides to the conception, ‘ the discipline in the army’
and ‘the general ruling the army,’ but does not attempt to
bring them together.

In the Ethics there are several popular and exoteric allu-
sions to ‘the gods,’ as, for instance, that “ It would be absurd
to praise the gods’ (1. xii. 3); ‘The gods and one’s parents
one cannot fully requite, one must honour them as much as
possible’ (1x. ii. 8), &c. ~There are also some traces of Aristo-
tle’s thoughts as a metaphysician; for instance, he speaks
of ‘the good under the category substance’ being ‘ God and

38. Metaphys. x1.x.1. Ἐπισκεπτέον | τευμα. Kal yap ἐν τῇ τάξει τὸ εὖ καὶ ὅ
δὲ καὶ ποτέρως ἔχει ἡ τοῦ ὅλου φύσις στρατηγός, καὶ μᾶλλον οὗτος - οὐ γὰρ
τὸ ἀγαθὸν καὶ τὸ ἄριστον, πότερον | οὗτος διὰ τὴν τάξιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐκείνη διὰ
κεχωρισμένον τι καὶ αὐτὸ καθ᾽ αὑτό, | τοῦτόν ἐστιν.

ἢ τὴν τάξιν, ἢ ἀμφοτέρως ὥσπερ στρά-

234 ESSAY V.

reason’ (I. vi. 3). And he gives an elaborate argument (x.
viii. 7) to demonstrate that speculative thought and the
exercise of the philosophic consciousness is the only human
quality that can be attributed tothe Deity. In this argument
it is observable that he first begins by speaking of ‘ the gods,’
saying, ‘ We conceive of the gods as especially blessed and
happy. What actions can we attribute to them? whether
those of justice? but it would be absurd to think of their
buying and selling,’ ἄορ. He then argues that ‘If life be
assigned to them, and all action, and still more, all production,
be taken away, what remains but speculation?’ And he con-
cludes, ‘ The life of God then, far exceeding in blessedness,
can be nothing else than a life of contemplation.’ Thus he
reverts to a monotheistic form of speaking, though he says
again afterwards, ‘The gods have all their life happy, man’s
life is so, in as far as it has some resemblance to the divine
consciousness of thought.’ This passage then contains a sort
of transition from exoteric to philosophical views. Aristotle
attributes to ‘the gods’ that same mode of existence, which
in his own metaphysical system he attributed to God, accord-
ing to the deepest conception that he had formed of Him.
It is true, however, that in assigning speculative thought ἕο:
the Deity, there is no mention made of the distinction which
exists between the thought of the philosopher where object is
distinct from subject, and the thought of God in which subject
and object are one. |
The passage to which we are referring in the Ethics con-
tains not only a positive assertion with regard to the nature
of God, but also a negative one. It asserts that all moral
virtue is unworthy of being attributed to God. This, as we

5: The same point of view is main- | the same pleasure; that is, the deep
tained in the Eudemian Book, vu. xiv. | consciousness of immutability.’
8. ‘Hence God enjoys ever one and

ARISTOTLE’S THEOLOGY. 235

have before noticed (see above, p. 164), was a total departure
from the view of Plato. Still more opposed is this view of
Aristotle’s to modern ideas. We feel that however great may
be the metaphysical problems about the nature of God, the
deepest conception of Him that we can attain to is a moral
one. In this respect there is not only a great weakness in
Aristotle’s “ Theology,’ that it is so exclusively metaphysical,
but also his ethical system suffers from this depression of
all that we should call morality below philosophical specula-
tion. This is one of the points which will most strikingly
remind us that we are reading a Greek treatise of the 4th
century B.c. It appears to be connected with the tendency
in Aristotle before mentioned, to consider human actions as
slight and insignificant. By his doctrine of the moral τέλος,
this tendency was in some degree counteracted ; but it still
remained, and it breaks out prominently in the passage just
_ quoted.

There are yet two other passages in the Ethics where
theological considerations are entertained. These are both
connected with the question of a divine providence for and
care of men. The first is where it is asked (δ ἢ. I. ix. 1)
- whether happiness comes by divine allotment (κατά τινα θείαν
μοῖραν) or by human means. The second is where the philo-
sopher is spoken of (x. viii. 13) as being most under the
favour of God (θεοφιλέστατος). With regard to Aristotle’s
general views of the question of providence, it is often argued
that he must have denied its existence, inasmuch as he
attributes no objective thought to God. But Aristotle does
not himself argue this way; when the question comes before
him, he does not appeal to his own ἃ priori principle, and
pronounce contrary to the general belief—rather he declines
to pronounce at all. In the former of the two passages men-
tioned, he says, ‘One would suppose that if anything were

236 ESSAY V.

the gift of God to men, happiness would be so, as it is the
best of human things. But the question belongs to another
science. Happiness, if not sent by God, but acquired by
human means, seems at all events something divine and
blessed.’ The latter part of this argument partly seems to
be a setting-aside of the question, partly to be a sort of
reconciliation of the existence of a providence (θεῖόν τι) with
the law of cause and effect. In the second passage Aristotle
repeats from Plato the assertion that the philosopher is under
the favour of heaven (GeopiAdéoratos). He says, ‘If there is
any care of human things by the gods, as there is thought
to be (ὥσπερ δοκεῖ), we may conclude that they take pleasure
in the highest and best thing, reason, which is most akin to
themselves, and do good to those who cherish and honour it.’
In these words there may possibly be an esoteric sense,
meaning that the philosopher in the exercise of his thought
realizes something divine. Aristotle may imply that the
popular doctrine of providence admits a deeper explanation,
but he by no means here or elsewhere denies it. Nor can
we presume to tell what Aristotle would include in his con-
ception of the subject-object thought of God. As we saw
before, he is not explicit as to the relation of God to nature,
neither is he as to the relation of God to man.

If we ask now, What were Aristotle’s opinions as to the
nature of the human soul, as far as they influenced his
Ethics? we are met at once by a difficulty. For the Aristo-
telian word ψυχή does not exactly correspond with our word
soul. It implies both more and less. More, as having on
one side, at all events, a directly physical connexion; less, as
not in itself implying any religious associations.

We cannot translate ψυχή ‘ vital principle,’ because though
it is this, it is also a great deal beside; nor ‘ mind,’ because
this would leave out as much at the one end as the former

ARISTOTLE’S THEOLOGY. 237

translation did at the other.
ψυχή at all, we can only see what Aristotle meant by it.

In short, we cannot translate
He
meant (advancing, as he shows us, upon the more or less
indistinct views of his predecessors)—he meant in the first
place to conceive of the ψυχή as a vital principle manifesting
itself** in an ascending scale through vegetable, animal, and
human life. To this scale of life Aristotle appeals in the
Ethics (1. vii. 10-12). He there argues that man must have
some proper function. ‘This cannot be mere life in its lowest
form, i.e. vegetable; nor again merely sensational, z.¢. animal,
life; there remains therefore the moral and rational life.’
From this point of view man is regarded as part of the chain
of nature. Aristotle doubts, but on the whole concludes, that
the ψυχή is the proper subject of physical science.**. This he
justifies by the fact®’ that the psychical phenomena, anger,
desire, and the like, are inseparable from the body, and from
' material conditions. Reason itself, if dependent on concep-
tions derived from the sense (μὴ ἄνευ φαντασίας), will fall
under the same head. Following out this direction of
thought, Aristotle defines the ψυχή. to be ‘The** simplest
actuality of a physical body, which potentially possesses life,
that is, of an organic body.’ Of the meaning of the word
ἐντελέχεια, used here, we have spoken above (see p. 184);
the whole of this definition we see accords with Aristotle’s
physical philosophy in general, which conceived great and
beautiful results coming out of physical conditions, not by any
mechanical system of causation, rather that these ends neces-

sitated the means; the whole was prior to and necessitated

35. De Anima, τι. iv. 2.

36 De Anima, τ. i. 18.

37 De Anima, τ. i. 11. Φαίνεται
δὲ τῶν πλείστων οὐθὲν ἄνευ σώματος
πάσχειν οὐδὲ ποιεῖν, οἷον ὀργίζεσθαι,
θαῤῥεῖν, ἐπιθυμεῖν, ὅλως αἰσθάνεσθαι.

Cf. 1.1. 15. τὰ πάθη λόγοι ἔνυλοί εἰσιν.

% De Anima, πι, i. 6. Διὸ ψυχή
ἐστιν ἐντελέχεια ἣ πρώτη σώματος
φυσικοῦ δυνάμει ζωὴν ἔχοντος. Τοιοῦτο
δέ, δ᾽ ἂν ἢ ὀργανικόν.

238 ESSAY V.

the parts. The ψυχή, says Aristotle, is to the body as form
to matter,*®* as the impression to the wax, as sight to the eye.
It is the essential idea of the body (τὸ τί ἦν εἶναι τῷ τοιῳδὶ
σώματι). It is as the master* to the slave, as the artist ἴο "
the instrument. It is the efficient, the final, and the formal
cause of the body. It is impossible to treat of the ψυχή
without taking account of the body; ‘as to the Pythagorean
doctrine of the transmigration of souls, they might as well
speak of the carpenter’s art clothing itself in flutes. For a
soul‘! can no more clothe itself in a foreign body, than an art
While
maintaining this close connexion between the ψυχή and the

can employ the instruments of some foreign art.’

body, as between end and means, Aristotle was kept aloof
by the whole tenour of his philosophy from anything like
materialism. He sums up this part of his reasonings in the
following words—‘ That the ψυχή, therefore, is inseparable
from the body is clear, or at all events some of its parts, if it
be divisible. Nothing,‘? however, hinders that some of its
parts may be separable from the body, as not being actualities
of the body at all. Moreover, it is not certain whether the
ψυχή be not the actuality of the body in the same way that
the sailor is of the boat.’

Here then is the point at which the interest in Aristotle’s
conception of the ψυχή begins for us. As long as the soul is
described as bearing the relation to the body of sight to the
eye, of a flower to the seed, of the impression to the wax, we
may be content to consider this a piece of ancient physical
philosophy. Our interest is different when the soul is said to

39 De Anima, τι. 1. 7.

40 Eth. vin. xi. 6.

1 De Anima, τ. iii. 26. Παραπλή-
σιον δὲ λέγουσιν ὥσπερ εἴ τις φαίη τὴν

° ”~
τεκτονικὴν εἰς αὐλοὺς ἐνδύεσθαι" δεῖ

γὰρ τὴν μὲν τέχνην χρῆσθαι τοῖς ὀργά-

νοις, τὴν δὲ ψυχὴν τῷ σώματι.

12. De Animé, τι. 1. 12. Οὐ μὴν ἀλλ᾽
ἔνιά γε οὐθὲν κωλύει, διὰ τὸ μηθενὸς
εἶναι σώματος ἐντελεχείας. Ἔστι δὲ
ἄδηλον εἰ οὕτως ἐντελέχεια τοῦ Buccs

ἡ ψυχὴ ὥσπερ πλωτὴρ πλοίου.

ARISTOTLE’S CONCEPTION OF ΨΥΧΗ͂Ι, 239

be related to the body, ‘as a sailor to his boat.’ But here is
the point also where Aristotle becomes less explicit. Having
once mooted this comparison, he does not follow it up. The
only further intimations of his opinion that he affords us are
to be found in the places where he speaks of ‘ those parts of
the ψυχή which are not actualities of the body at 811. A
striking notice on this subject is to be found in his treatise
De Generatione Animalium* (τι. iii. 10), where he argues
that ‘The reason alone enters in from without, and is alone
divine ; for the realization of the bodily conditions contributes
nothing to the realization of its existence.’ We have had
before a contradictory point. of view to this, in the saying
that ‘Reason may be looked on as dependent on conceptions.
derived from the senses,’ which is also elsewhere repeated.
But this contradiction is reconciled in Aristotle’s account of
the two modes of reason, the receptive or passive (νοῦς παθη-
* These
two modes, he says, it is necessary should be opposed to each
other, as matter is opposed everywhere to form, and to all

_texos), and the creative or active (νοῦς ποιητικόΞ).

that gives the form. The receptive reason,‘ which is as
The
creative reason gives existence to all things, as light calls
colour into being. The creative reason transcends the body,

matter, becomes all things by receiving their forms.

being capable of separation from it, and from all things; it
is an everlasting existence, incapable of being mingled with

48. Λείπεται δὲ τὸν νοῦν μόνον θύραθεν
ἐπεισιέναι καὶ θεῖον εἶναι μόνον" οὐθὲν
γὰρ αὐτοῦ τῇ ἐνεργείᾳ κοινωνεῖ σωματικὴ
ἐνέργεια.

44 De An. πι. y. 2. Καὶ ἔστιν ὃ μὲν
τοιοῦτος νοῦς τῷ πάντα γίνεσθαι, 5 δὲ
τῷ πάντα ποιεῖν, ὡς ἕξις τις, οἷον τὸ
φῶς" τρόπον γάρ τινα καὶ τὸ φῶς ποιεῖ
τὰ δυνάμει ὄντα χρώματα ἐνεργείᾳ
χρώματα. Καὶ οὗτος ὅ νοῦς χωριστὸς

καὶ ἀπαθὴς καὶ duryhs τῇ οὐσίᾳ ὧν
ἐνεργείᾳ.---Ἡ κατὰ δύναμιν (ἐπιστήμη)
χρόνῳ προτέρα ἐν τῷ ἑνί, ὅλως δὲ οὐ
χρόνῳ" ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ Gre μὲν νοεῖ bre δ᾽ οὐ
νοεῖ. Χωρισθεὶς δ᾽ ἐστὶ μόνον τοῦθ᾽ ὅπερ
ἐστί, καὶ τοῦτο μόνον ἀθάνατον καὶ
ἀΐδιον" οὐ μνημονεύομεν δέ, ὅτι τοῦτο
μὲν ἀπαθές, ὃ δὲ παθητικὸς νοῦς φθαρτός,
καὶ ἄνευ τούτου οὐθὲν νοεῖ.

240 ESSAY V.

matter, or affected by it; prior and subsequent to the indi-
vidual mind. The receptive reason is necessary to individual
thought, but it is perishable, and by its decay all memory,
and therefore individuality, is lost to the higher and immortal
reason.’

In the Ethics this distinction between the creative and the
receptive reason (which, were this the place for it, might be
made the subject of much discussion) is not kept up. The.
reason is there spoken of in its entirety, as containing in
itself the synthesis of the two opposite modes. It is spoken
of as constituting in the deepest sense the personality of the
individual.*® On the other hand, it is spoken of as something
divine, and akin to the nature of God.4* The evocation of
this into consciousness constitutes what Aristotle calls ‘ the
divine’ in happiness; it gives us, according to him, a mo-
mentary glimpse of the ever-blessed life of God.

If we were to follow out logically the consequences of the
above-mentioned doctrine of the two modes of the reason, we
should come to the conclusion that, while Aristotle held the
eternity of the universal reason, it would be impossible for
him to hold what is really meant by the immortality of the
soul. For the only immortal part in us is one which is im-
personal, bearing the same relation to individuality as light to
colours, being incapable of even receiving any impressions.
But we do not find in Aristotle anything like such a logical
application of the doctrine. Aristotle still leaves on record
the saying, ‘It is hard to pronounce whether the soul be not
related to the body as a sailor is to his boat.’ While he thus
avoids dogmatism, he seems to decline entering on the ques-
tion. Though the treatise De Anima is incomplete, yet we
may well be surprised that it neither touches, nor shows any

5th. 1X. iv. 4, ἈΠ 8: 9- 4. Eth. x. viii. 13.

ARISTOTLE’S CONCEPTION OF WYXH’. 241

indication of an intention to touch, upon Plato’s doctrine of
the immortality of the soul. With Plato the grounds of this
doctrine were in the last resort moral; they amounted to a
kind of faith. With this sort of grounds Aristotle does not
seem to consider it his province to deal. In the Ethics, while
there is no direct contradiction of the doctrine, yet the whole
system of morals is one that is irrespective of the doctrine,
and uninfluenced by it. Aristotle’s discussion of the gnome
of Solon (Zth. 1. x.) exhibits some remarkable peculiarities.
He first asks, ‘Can Solon have meant by this that “a man is
happy when he has died?”’ and replies, ‘This would be
utterly absurd, especially since we consider happiness to be
an actuality.’ The assertion here is merely summary and -
dogmatic, where there might have been an elaborate argu-
ment. For does it follow that the ἐνέργεια which constitutes
happiness is so entirely dependent on the body as not possibly
to exist without it? How, if the sailor at death were to step
out of his θοαὶ ἢ. Again, according to Aristotle’s own view,
the higher reason is an immortal évépyeva,—What is the re-
lation of this to personality and happiness? Aristotle further
on is led to revert again to the state after death, and to ask
is one safe after death from the influence of the vicissitudes
of fortune. Allowing, as a concession to popular feeling,
that the dead may be affected by the fortunes of the living,
he argues that the effect on them must be at any rate so small
as not really to influence their happiness or unhappiness, and
he reminds us, in conclusion, ἢ of the extreme doubtfulness as
to whether the dead do share at all in the interests of this
world. Aristotle, while conceding for a moment the popular
point of view, pictures the dead as shadowy existences, just as
if in some Homeric Hades. There is evidently no philosophic

*” Eth, τι xi. 4; see notes on this passage.
R

242 ESSAY V.

earnestness about his mention of the subject, though he avoids
all dogmatism and all ungracious expression of opinions.
Other notices in the Ethics, such as that ‘ Death seems
the boundary of all things, with no good or evil beyond
it’ (Eth. 11. vi. 6), are too slight and unscientific to
bear upon the question. Nothing that Aristotle says of
man’s moral nature seems to have any connexion with
the idea of a future life. His doctrine of the End-in-itself
seems indeed rather to supersede such an idea; it does not
contradict it, but rather absorbs all thought of time and space,
of present and future in itself, as being the absolute.

Thus in his interesting picture of the death of the brave
man (th. m1. ix. 4), Aristotle represents him as consciously
quitting a happy life—he does not represent him as buoyed
up by the hope of future fame, or a reward in heaven,—but
as attaining there and then to an End-in-itself. This ideal
doctrine, which sets the mind above all circumstances, and
even aboye death, constitutes a merit and a defect in the
system of Aristotle. Its merit is the discernment of the
absolute ideas of the inner consciousness. Its defect is, as
we have before observed (see p. 165), that it is tinctured with
philosophic pride; that it is a doctrine for the few and not
for the many. Closely connected with his apparent limitation
of morality to the present life is his opinion that ‘ Moral
virtue is unworthy of being attributed to God.’ This view
gives to the moral system of Aristotle a restricted and even
shallow appearance, as compared with Plato and with modern
times.

ESSAY VI.

——+——_

The Ancient Stoics.

OWN to the time of Aristotle, Greek philosophy may be
said to have lived apart. It contained within itself a
gradual progress and culmination of thought, but the great
philosophers who were the authors of this progress moved on
a level far above the ordinary modes of comprehension. After —
the death of Aristotle, a new spectacle is presented,—philo-
sophy no longer an exclusive and esoteric property of the
schools, but spreading its results over the world. Speculation
has really now ceased; the desire of knowledge purely for its
own sake is gone. In the place of this we find other human
needs pressing forward their claims. Perhaps we may best
and most shortly express the change that at this period took
place in the thought of mankind, by saying that the soul now,
instead of the mind, sought for itself an explanation of the
world. This change, of unspeakable importance, might be
called the transition to modernism. Taking the Stoical doc-
trine as the most striking, the most earnest, and the most
widely-spread exposition of the results of Grecian philosophy,
we shall, if we study it attentively, find reason to assert that
its authors, the early Stoics, were in some sense the beginners
of the modern point of view. Fully to set this forth is not
the work of a few sentences, but can only be accomplished by
an examination of the law or idea of Stoicism, and by tracing
this in its various phases throughout its history in the Greek
and Roman world. Perhaps, as the conclusion of such a

R 2

244 ESSAY VI.

review, we may be enabled to explain to ourselves why it is
that in any modern book of morals, or even in any practical
sermon, we are sure to come upon much that has a close
affinity with the modes of thinking of the ancient Stoics,
while with the modes of thinking of Plato and Aristotle we
shall find no real affinity at all.

Stoicism took its rise after the loss of Grecian freedom, and
yet not in times that were by any means dangerous or op-
pressive. It sprang up in the gardens and the porch of
genial Athens, where Zeno, Cleanthes, and Chrysippus lived,
as Plutarch! says, ‘as though they had eaten of the lotus,
spell-bound on a foreign soil, enamoured of leisure, spending
their long lives in books, and walks, and discourses.’ It was,
then, no external pressure, but the internal impulse of the
human spirit, that gave birth to this new principle. Down
to the death of Aristotle we see philosophers carried out of
themselves in dealing with great ideas. The subjective con-
sciousness was lost and overpowered in physical or dialectical
conceptions. The saying, ‘There are many things diviner
than man,’? might be taken as a symbol of the views of the
age. Even ethics were so mixed up and involved in politics
—the individual was so much absorbed into the State—that
the will and inner consciousness of man received as yet no
adequate attention. But now we enter upon a new era. A
new question gradually wins its way to the light,—namely,
What is the position of the individual in the world? What
is the nature and destiny of man as a moral being? And
the true essence of Stoicism is, that it is an answer to this
question. It may seem a paradox to assert that the problem
of man’s moral nature came forward at so late a period of
history as the end and aftermath of Greek philosophy. The

' De Repugnantiis Stoicis, α. ii. | 2 Aristotle, Eth, Nic. vi. vii. 4.

STOICISM A NEW ERA. 245

bighest degree of moral consciousness seems to us moderns
so natural a state, the ideas of duty and responsibility are so
engrained .into our minds, the notion that the individual
stands independent and related to God alone is so habitual,
that the really late introduction of this condition of thought
appears strange. But, in order to explain the fact, we must
remember the child-like and unconscious spirit which cha-
racterised the Grecian mind, and its tendency to objective
thought and the enjoyment of nature, rather than to self-
reflection and subjective analysis. We must remember that
the Greeks had no moral religion, and that their philosophy
began with the universe as a whole, and only slowly worked
its way back to the human mind. In short, if we wish to see .
thought, in which the moral consciousness of the individual,
the moral ego, is, as it were, the centre and starting-point (as
is the case, for instance, in the Psalms of David), we must
look, not to the conversations of Socrates, nor to the dialogues
of Plato, nor even to the ethics of Aristotle, but to the post-
Aristotelian schools.

It was no sudden revolution in Greece that gave to the
moral problem a paramount importance. Its entrance had
been prepared, first, by the gradual progress of speculation,
for it was on the basis of the results of physical, ethical, and
psychological enquiries that Stoicism took its start; secondly,
by the very decline of thought, which, as it fell away on the
speculative side, left the moral side prominent. The new era,
of which Stoicism is the beginning and the representative,
was unheralded and unrecognized. Indeed, so little marked
was its entry that Cicero* wonders why Zeno should have
founded a new school, since he was an innovator in words
only, while essentially he agreed with the Peripatetics.

3 De Fin. w. ii. 3; IV. XXVi, 72.

246 ESSAY VI.

Again, the new attitude of thought does not seem to owe its
origin to any remarkable force of genius. Rather we might
say that Stoicism throughout its history, from Zeno to
Marcus Aurelius, reckons no really great man, certainly no
great genius, among its ranks, though it exhibits to us a
series of more or less interesting personages, all of whom are
characterized by a certain peculiar element. This peculiar
element may be briefly expressed as intensity—a quality by
which the early Stoics, as well as their successors, were
strongly marked. Perhaps it may be not wholly fanciful to
conceive that this quality, and the kind of thought that
accompanied it, may have been in some degree attributable
to the influence of race. At all events, if we cast our eyes
on a list of the early Stoics and their native places, we
cannot avoid noticing how many of this school appear to
have come of an Eastern, and often of a Semitie stock.
Zeno, their founder, was from Citium, in Cyprus, by all
accounts of a Pheenician family. Of his disciples, Perseus
came also from Citium; Herillus was from Carthage; Athe-
nodorus‘ from Tarsus; Cleanthes from Assos, in the Troad.
The chief disciples of Cleanthes were Spherus of the Bos-
porus; and Chrysippus, from Soli, in Cilicia. Chrysippus
was succeeded by Zeno of Sidon, and Diogenes of Babylon;
the latter taught Antipater of Tarsus, who taught Panztius
of Rhodes, who taught Posidonius of Apamea, in Syria.
There was another Athenodorus, from Cana, in Cilicia; and
the early Stoic Archedemus is mentioned by Cicero as be-
longing to Tarsus. When we notice the frequent connexion
of Cilicia with this list of names, we may well be reminded
of one who was born at Tarsus, in Cilicia, a citizen of no

4 Placed here by Lipsius in his | the same as Athenodorus Cordylion,
Manuductio ad Stoicam Philosophiam | he must haye lived much later.
(Antwerp, 1604), 1.x. But if this be .

STOICISM CONTRASTED WITH EPICURISM. 247

mean city; and we may be led to ask, is there not something
in the mental characteristics of the early Stoics analogous
to his?

The true character of Stoicism appears most prominently
when it is placed in contrast with Epicurism, that rival
system with which it stands in perpetual antithesis. If we
ask on what does this antithesis rest? we shall find that it
rests on the twofold essence of man, as a thinking and as a
feeling subject; as consisting, on the one hand, of spirit, or
free and self-determined thought; and, on the other hand,
of nature, or an existence determined by physical laws ex-
pressing themselves in the sensuous feelings and desires.
These two sides of man’s being may often stand in opposition
to each other; or again, they may be harmonized so as to
give either the one side or the other the precedence and
authority. Either we may say ‘a thing is good because it
_is pleasant,’ and thus refer the decision to the natural
feelings ; or we may say ‘it is pleasant because it is good,’
and thus refer the decision to the inner spirit or reason.
How far these two sentences actually express the leading
principles of the Stoic and the Epicurean schools, we may
best see by considering the ideal of man which they each
proposed to themselves. The Epicurean ideal was a being
moving harmoniously according to natural impulses; one, in
short, in whom the spirit and thought should rather form a
part of the natural life than prominently control it. The
Stoic ideal, on the contrary, was a being in whom the natural
impulses and desires should be absolutely subjected to the
laws of abstract thought. Epicurism is essentially Greek
and essentially Pagan; the beautiful and genial Greek
mythology is but a deification of the natural powers and
impulses. Stoicism is a reaction against this: it consists
in an inner life, in a drawing away from the body, and in

248 ESSAY VI.

disregarding as worthless and of no moment the ‘law in
the members.’ Epicurism and Stoicism both received as
an inheritance the results of Grecian speculation, Epicurus
reproducing the Physics of Democritus, as Zeno did those of
Heraclitus. In both, the moral attitude was what was essen-
tial. Of both it has been truly said that they were less and
more than philosophy. Less, because they were thoroughly
unspeculative in their character, and indeed consisted in the
popularising of speculation; more, because- they were not
mere systems of knowledge, but a principle for the whole of
life. They soon lost their local and restricted character as
schools; they assimilated to themselves more and more
broadly human thought, and thus became ‘the two great
confessions of faith of the historical world.’® Thus were
these two ideas set against each other. Regarding, however,
Stoicism, with its weakness and its strength, as far the more
interesting and important, as it is, of course, also far the
higher tendency of the two, we shall henceforth, in tracing
its history, only incidentally allude to the fortunes of its rival.

In the history of Stoicism, the following parts of the
subject seem naturally to stand apart from each other, and
to demand in some sort a separate treatment :—First, the
period of the formation of the Stoical dogma, from Zeno
to Chrysippus; second, the period of the promulgation of
Stoicism and its introduction to the knowledge of the
Romans; third, Stoicism in the Roman world, its different
phases, and its influence on individual thought and on public
manners and institutions. I. The first period of Stoicism
takes us down to the year 207 B.c., which was the date of
the death of Chrysippus. The chronology of the commence-

5 Dr. Braniss, Uebersicht des Ent- | lau, 1842), p. 218, whence several
wicklungsganges der Philosophie (Bres- | points of this comparison are taken.

ZENO, 249

ment of this period is difficult to fix. Zeno probably lived
till after the year 260 B.c., and he may have been born rather
before 340 B.c. It is uncertain whether he came to Athens
in his twenty-second or his thirtieth year. On the whole,
we may assume that he did not arrive there till after the
death of Aristotle, which took place in the year 322 B.C.
Chrysippus may possibly in early youth have heard some of
the discourses of Zeno; but Cleanthes, who succeeded Zeno as
leader of the Porch, was the true link between them. By
these three the Stoical doctrine, properly so called, received
its completion. Nothing was afterwards added to it, except
the eclectic amalgamation of other doctrines. These three
personages come before us with great distinctness. The.
anecdotes that have been handed down about them, though
perhaps in some cases mythical, are at all events highly
symbolical, and give us a very definite conception of their
separate characteristics. Zeno is described® as a slight,
withered little fellow, of a swarthy complexion, and with his
neck on one side. The story goes, that in trading to Athens
he was shipwrecked at the Pirzeus, and was thus ‘ cast on to
the shores of philosophy.’ Going up to the city, he sat down
at the stall of a bookseller, where he read the second book of
the Memorabilia of Xenophon, and asked with enthusiasm
‘where such men lived?’ Crates, the Cynic, happened to
be passing at the moment, and the bookseller cried ‘ Follow
him.’ Zeno then studied under Crates, but held himself
aloof from the extravagant unseemliness of Cynicism. He is
also said to have studied under the Megarians, Stilpo, Cronus,
and Philo, and under the Academicians, Xenocrates and
Polemo. After twenty years, he opened his school in the Stoa
Peecile, the porch adorned with the frescoes of Polygnotus.

. © Diog, Laert. vu. i. 1.

250 ESSAY VI.

Zeno appears to have impressed the Athenians with the
highest admiration for his character. Their treatment of
him was a contrast to their treatment of Socrates. It is
perhaps an apocryphal tradition which relates that they
deposited the keys of their citadel with him, as being the most
trustworthy person; but it may be true that they decreed to
him a golden crown, a brazen statue, and a public entomb-
ment. In extreme old age he committed suicide. Cleanthes,
the disciple of Zeno, was perhaps the most zealous disciple
that a philosopher ever had. He is said to have been ori-
ginally a boxer, and to have come to Athens with four
drachmas in his possession. By his strength, his endurance,
and his laborious life, he acquired the name of ‘ the New
Hercules.’ ‘Falling in with Zeno,’ it is said, ‘he took
to philosophy most bravely.’ He wrote notes of his master’s
lectures on potsherds and the bladebones of oxen, not being
able to afford to purchase paper. He was summoned before
the Areopagus to give an account of his way of living, since
his whole days were passed in philosophy, and he had no
ostensible calling nor means of support. He proved to his
judges that he drew water by night for a gardener, and
ground the corn for a flour-dealer, and thus earned a main-
tenance. The story goes on that his judges, on hearing this
account, voted him ten minz, which the rigid Zeno forbade
him to accept. There is something quaint about the whole
personality of Cleanthes. He was nicknamed ‘the Ass,’ for
his stubborn patience. He seems to have left the impression
that it was this indomitable perseverance, rather than the
superiority of his genius, that gave him precedence over
other noteworthy disciples of Zeno. ‘ High thinking,’ how-
ever, appears to have accompanied the ‘plain living’ of

7 Diogenes Laertius, vit. v. 1.

CLEANTHES AND CHRYSIPPUS. 251

Cleanthes. His reflections on Destiny, and his Hymn to
Jupiter, will best be treated of hereafter. When asked,$
‘ What is the best way to be rich ?’ he answered, ‘To be poor
in desires.’ No reproaches or ridicule ever ruffled the sweet-
ness and dignity of his presence. His calm bearing, when
satirized on the stage by the comic poet Sositheus, caused the
spectators to applaud him and to hiss off Sositheus. The
idea of death seems to have been long present to his mind.
Being taunted with his old age, he said, ‘ Yes, I am willing
to be gone, but when I see myself sound in every part,
writing and reading, I am again tempted to linger.’ The
story of his death is characteristic. Having suffered from an
ulcer on the tongue, he was advised by his physician to
abstain from eating for a while in order to facilitate the
cure. Having fasted for two days he was completely cured,
and his physician bade him return to his usual course of life, .
' but he said that ‘Since he had got so far on the road,
it would be a pity not to finish the journey ;’ so continuing
his abstinence, he died.

Hardly any personal details of the life of Chrysippus have
come to us. On the other hand, we have more fragments of
his actual writings than of those of all the early Stoics put
together. In Chrysippus the man seems swallowed up in
the writer and disputer. He is said® to have been slight in
person, so that his statue in the Cerameicus was totally
eclipsed by a neighbouring equestrian figure, and from this
circumstance Carneades nicknamed him Crypsippus. His
literary activity was almost unrivalled: he wrote above seven —
hundred and five works on different subjects. Epicurus
alone, of the ancient philosophers, outstripped him in volu-
minousness of writing. He is said to have been keen and

5. Stobeeus, Florileg. xciv. 31. | ® Diogenes Laertius, vi. vii. 4.

252 ESSAY VI.

able on every sort of subject. He told Cleanthes that he
‘only wanted the doctrines and he would soon find out the
proofs.” This boast appears to betray a want of earnestness
as to the truth, and somewhat too much of the spirit of a
dialectician. In this respect Chrysippus must have differed
widely from his two distinguished predecessors, with whom
Stoicism was above all things a reality and a mode of life.
However, there is no doubt that Chrysippus did great service
to the Stoic school by embodying their doctrines and stating
them in manifold different ways. Hence the saying, * But
for Chrysippus, the Porch would never have been.’ He
developed Stoicism on its negative and antagonistic side by
arguing with trenchant dialectic against Epicurus and the
Academy. We shall see that he really mooted and boldly
strove to reconcile some of the deepest and most difficult
contradictions of human thought—difficulties which are ever
present in modern metaphysics, but which had never truly
occupied the ancients before the death of Aristotle. We know
most about Chrysippus from Plutarch’s book On the Incon-
sistencies of the Stoics. It consists really of the inconsis-
tencies of Chrysippus, extracted from various parts of his
voluminous writings. This interesting book gives the im-
pression that Plutarch is unphilosophical, though we are not
able to exonerate Chrysippus from inconsistency. Such rapid
and extensive writing, such a warm spirit of advocacy, such
an attempt to round off and complete a doctrine in spite
of all difficulties, such a various controversialism, such an
elevated theory, paradoxical even in the grandeur of its aims,
combined, on the other hand, with an extremely practical
point of view,—could not fail to give rise to manifold incon-
sistencies. Chrysippus was inconsistent, just as Seneca after-
wards was inconsistent, because it suited the genius of
Stoicism to abandon the stern simplicity and unity of a

RELATION OF STOICISM TO EARLIER PHILOSOPHY. 253

scientific principle. Stoicism became learned, complex, and
eclectic; embracing in its grasp a far greater variety of
problems than the philosophy of Plato or Aristotle had done,
it treated these more loosely, and often oscillated between
mere empiricism and an ideal point of view.

Taking now the Stoical doctrine as it gradually oneal
itself during the entire course of the third century B.c., we
may proceed to trace its essential features, though in the
lack of direct writings! of the successive masters of the
school we must give up attempting to fix their several con-
tributions, and their differences from each other. Early
Stoicism consisted of two elements—the one might be called
dynamical: it was the peculiar spirit, tendency, and mental-
attitude assumed; the other element was material, being
an adaptation of the results of existing philosophy. The
material side of Stoicism was comparatively unimportant.
‘This it was, however, which caused Cicero to make the mis-
taken observation that Zeno was no real innovator, but only
And indeed it is

sufficiently striking at first sight of the Stoical compendia,

a reproducer of the Peripatetic doctrines.

that their ethic seems a patchwork of Peripatetic and Pla-
tonic formule; their logic, a development of the doctrine
of the syllogism ; and their physic, a blending of Heraclitus
with Aristotle.
eclectic; all that was Peripatetic in his system was the
And in
short, the vestiges of previous Greek philosophy existing in

Yet, in spite of all this, Zeno was no mere

outward, and not the inner and essential part.

10 No fragment even, of any length,
belonging to the early Stoics, has come
down to us, except the hymn of Cle-
anthes. Our main sources of informa-
tion with regard to them are Cicero,
Plutarch, Sextus Empiricus, Diogenes
Laertius, and Stobeus. We have the

reflection of their doctrine in the
writings of the Roman Stoies, Seneca,
Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius; and
numberless scattered allusions to them
in the later literature of antiquity may
be easily combined into a complete
and tolerably certain view.

254 ESSAY VI.

Stoical books may be said, mutatis mutandis, to bear the
same relation to Stoicism as the vestiges of Jewish and
of Alexandrian ideas existing in the New Testament bear
to Christianity. What we have called the dynamical ele-
ment of Stoicism constitutes its real essence. This it de-
rived partly from the idiosynerasy and perhaps the national
characteristics of its founder, partly from the peculiarities of
the Cynical school in which it was nurtured.

Zeno agreed with Crates, and Stoicism coincides with the
Cynic view thus far, that it makes the starting-point of all
thought to be the conception of a life. The setting of this
moral and practical conception above all speculative phi-
losophy separates Zeno from the previous schools of Greece.
We have now to ask, What is it that distinguishes him from
Crates ?—-what is the essential difference between the Stoic
and the Cynic creeds? This is generally stated as if the
former were merely a softened edition of the latter. The
Cynic said, ‘There is nothing good but virtue; all else is
absolutely indifferent.’ The Stoie said, ‘Yes, but among
indifferent things some are preferable’! to others: health,
though not an absolute good, is, on the whole, preferable to
sickness; and this, though not an evil, is, on the whole, to
be avoided.’ Again, it is said that Cynicism is unseemly and
brutal, and tramples upon society; Stoicism is more gentle,
and outwardly conforms with the world. But this com-
parison does not go sufficiently deep, and does not explain
the facts of the case, for the Stoics were often as paradoxical
as the Cynics in denying that anything was a good besides
virtue ; and if they were outwardly less ferocious, we want to

" This was the famous Stoical dis- | paradox that ‘nothing is good but
tinction between things προηγμένα and | virtue,’ and the practical facts of life,
ἀποπροηγμένα; see Diog. Laert. va. i. | Stoicism is forced to be full of such
61. It was a compromise between the | compromises.

STOICISM AND CYNICISM. 255

know what was the inward law of their doctrine that made
them so. Perhaps we nearest touch the spring of difference,
by observing that Cynicism is essentially mere negation,
mere protest against the external world; while Stoicism is
essentially positive, essentially constructive, and tends in
many ways to leaven the external world. Cynicism despised
the sciences, disdained politics, exploded the social institu-
tions, and ridiculed patriotism or the distinctions of country.
Zeno, on the contrary, re-arranged the sciences according to
his views: he enjoined the wise to mix in affairs; and he
conceived not a mere negation of patriotic prejudices, but
the positive idea of cosmopolitanism. Cynicism, therefore, |
is a withdrawal from the world into blank isolation, while -
Stoicism is the withdrawal into an inner life, which forms
to its votaries an object of the highest enthusiasm. Hence
the elation, often hyperbolical, which tinges the Stoical
austerity ; hence the attractiveness of the doctrine and its
spread over the world. And connected, too, with the positive
and constructive impulse of Stoicism, we may reckon its
plastic character, its external eclecticism, and its tendency
to be influenced and modified by the course of surrounding
civilization.

Lists have been preserved’? for us by the ancients of the
different formulz in which the Stoical masters expressed the
leading principle of life. They are all modifications of the
same idea, that ‘the end for man is to live according to
nature.” Nature here means that which is universal-—the
entire course of the world, as opposed to individual and
special ideas and impulses. Until we remember this inter-
pretation, the Stoical formula appears surprising; for how

2 Stobeeus, Hel. ii, 134; Clemens Alexandrinus, Strom. ii.; Diog. Laert.
VU, i. 53.

256 ESSAY VI.

could they enjoin life according to nature, whose whole
endeavour was to be superior to nature—to overcome and
subdue desire, sorrow, pain, the fear of death, and all that
in another sense we are accustomed to call the natural
instincts? If ‘nature’ were taken to mean the involuntary
and immediate impulses, then the phrase “ follow nature’
would express not the Stoical, but the Epicurean, principle.
The Stoical ‘nature’ was the conception of an abstract and
universal order, and was to be apprehended by the discursive
Reason. This clear-sightedness and authority of the Reason
is, of course, only slowly arrived at, and the Stoics explained
their theory by saying that ‘all our duties come from nature,
and wisdom among the number. But as when a man is
introduced to anyone, he often thinks more of the person to
whom he is introduced than of him who gave the introduc-
tion,—so we need not wonder that, while it was the in-
stinctive impulses of nature that led us to wisdom, we hold
wisdom more dear than those impulses by which we arrived
at her.’'> In order to avoid seeming to approximate to
the Epicureans, they denied that pleasure and pain are
among the principles of nature. In short, starting from
nature, the Stoics came round utterly to supplant nature (in
the usual sense), and to substitute in her room pure thought
and abstract ideas.

The phrase ‘ follow nature,’ to express the highest kind of
life, has never yet established itself in language. ‘ One touch
of nature makes the whole world kin ’—that is, any perfectly
simple and instinctive feeling, the very opposite of anything
abstract or cultivated. Again, the ‘ natural man,’ as opposed
to the ‘spiritual man,’ denotes something utterly different
from the Stoical idea of perfection. Thus, common parlance

18 Cicero, De Fin. ται. vii. 23.

BUTLER COMPARED WITH THE STOICS. 257

retains its own associations connected with the term nature,
and rejects those of the Stoics. But it is interesting to
observe that Bishop Butler has espoused their formula, and
has argued that ‘nature’ does not mean single impulses or
desires, but the idea of the constitution of the whole, reason
and conscience as regulative principles being taken into con-
sideration. Butler’s object in maintaining this position was
obviously one relative to his own times. As in appealing to
a selfish age he thought it necessary to assert that virtue was
not inconsistent with the truest self-love, so also he argued
that virtue was not against nature, but in reality man’s
natural state. He here takes up, just like the Stoics, an
abstract ideal of nature; for he makes the basis of his rea=
soning a proviso that the moral rules of conscience not only
exist, but that they have authority—that is, that they con-
trol, as they ought to do, the rest of the human principles.
Into the difficulties of the question Butler has not entered.
For instance, while he is perfectly successful in establishing
against the Hobbists the reality of the moral elements in
man’s nature, he does not tell us whether or not he would
agree with the Stoics in ultimately giving the entire supre-
macy to man’s reason and conscience, so as to supplant the
other instincts, or at what point he would stop. Again, we
would ask him to define more accurately his idea of ‘ life
according to nature.’ Is the life of the saints and martyrs
to be called a life according to nature? If not, is it better
or worse? and if better, is not man to aim at the better?
The whole question is not one of mere words, but implying
the discussion of a very important subject—namely, the way
in which life is to be conceived. There is one mode of repre-
sentation which describes life as a progress, a conflict, a good
fight ; another which makes it the following of nature. On
the one hand, there is the spirit of aspiration and effort, the
5

258 ESSAY VI.

tendency to asceticism, the victory of the will; on the other
hand, there are the genial, kindly, human feelings, there is
the ‘wise passivity’ of mind, and there is the breadth of
sympathy which counterbalances an over-concentrated in-
tensity of aim. To make the formula ‘life according to
nature’ of any value, we require to have these contradictory
tendencies harmonized with each other. We should then see
whether the term ‘nature’ is at all capable of expressing the
highest kind of life, or whether we must continue to think
that this is something rather above ‘nature’ (as it exists in
man) than a following of nature. We should see how far it
is really possible to conceive a harmony, without the suppres-
sion of either, not only between the ‘law of the members’
and the ‘ law of the spirit,’ but also between the inner life
and the interests and enjoyments of the external world.

The commonest ideal of virtue according to nature is the
picture of mankind in astate of innocence, whether the scene
be laid in some far-off island, or remote in point of time, in
the golden age of the world. To imagine a primitive and
pastoral existence, in which every impulse is virtuous and
every impulse is to be obeyed,—this is an easy reaction from
a vitiated and over-refined civilization. Some have supposed
that the Stoics made this ideal of uncorrupted nature part of
their views; but in reality it would not suit the genius of
Stoicism to do so. Though they railed at the actual state of
the world, their remedy was placed rather in the power of
the will, in the effort to progress, than in dreams of a bygone
state of innocence. The only allusion which we can trace in
their fragments to this conception is a saying of the later
Stoic, Posidonius, that ‘in the golden age the government
was in the hands of the philosophers.’'* The context, how-

Seneca, Ep. xc.

THE IDEAL WISE MAN. 259

ever, of this remark, makes it appear rather as a rhetorical
praise of philosophy than as a serious piece of doctrine.
Seneca, in one of whose epistles it is quoted, comments upon
it in an interesting manner. After echoing for a while the
strain of Virgil, and praising those times of innocence ‘ before
the reign of Jupiter,’ when men slept free and undisturbed
under the canopy of heaven, he returns to the true Stoical
point of view, and asserts that in those primitive times there
was, in fact, no wisdom. If men did wise things, they did
them unconsciously. They had not even virtue; neither
justice, nor prudence, nor temperance, nor fortitude. It is
a profound truth that Seneca perceives—namely, that the
mind and the will evoked into consciousness and perfected
even by suffering, are greater possessions than the blessings,
if they were attainable, of a so-called golden age and state of
nature.

The Stoical principle of ‘life according to nature’ would
have been, like Bishop Butler’s, a blank formula, were it not
for the further exposition of their doctrine which they have
left us in their ideal of the Wise Man. This ideal exhibits
not the pursuit of wisdom for its own sake—not the excel-
lence of philosophy in and for itself, as Plato and Aristotle
used to conceive it, but rather the results of wisdom in the
will and character,—results which Zeno summed up in the
terms an ‘even flow of life.’ The notion that equanimity
is the most essential characteristic of a philosopher is perhaps
traceable to this conception of the Stoics; according to whom
the Wise Man is infallible, impassive, and invulnerable.’
And while possessing this external immunity from harm, he
is in himself full of divine inspirations—he is alone free,
alone king and priest, alone capable of friendship or affection.

5 Ἑὔροια τοῦ βίου. Stob. Ecl. ii. 138. 16 Diog. Laert. vit. i. 64.
‘s2

260 ESSAY VI.

These and other splendid and exclusive attributes did the
Stoics attach to their imaginary sage, till Chrysippus, be-
coming conscious in one place!” of the paradoxical character
of the picture, allows that he ‘may seem, through the pre-
eminent greatness and beauty of his descriptions, to be
giving utterance to mere fictions, things transcending man
and human nature.’ At the Stoical paradox Horace laughed.
Plutarch wrote a book (now lost, but of which the outlines
remain) to prove that it surpassed the wildest imaginations
of the poets. But in truth ‘the curtain was the picture;’
the paradox was an essential part of the doctrine. For of
necessity these pictures of the inner life are paradoxical.
They speak of a boundless freedom and elevation, with which
the narrow limits of external reality come into harsh con-
trast. And in the vaunts of the Stoics we only see what is
analogous to one side of Lord Bacon’s famous ‘ character of
a believing Christian, drawn out in paradoxes and seeming
contradictions.’ ‘He is rich in poverty, and poor in the
midst of riches; he believes himself to be a king, how mean
soever he be; and how great soever he be, yet he thinks
himself not too good to be servant to the poorest saint.’
Some of the qualities of the Stoic ideal seem inferior to the
conception of goodness afterwards developed by the school.
The Wise Man of Zeno was represented as stern and pitiless,
and as never conceding pardon to any one. This forms
a great contrast with the gentle and forgiving spirit of
Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius. Doubtless such harsher
traits of the picture belonged to Cynicism, and were after-
wards discarded during subsequent transmutations of the
Stoical principle. More inward meaning is there in the
saying, paradoxical as it might appear, that nothing the Wise

17 Plutarch, De Repug. Stoic. ο. xv.

THE IDEAS OF PERFECTION AND ADVANCE. 261

Man can do would be a crime. Cannibalism, and incest, and
the most shocking things, are said to be indifferent to the
sage. This, however, though stated so repulsively, can only
have meant something resembling the principle that ‘ what-
ever is of faith is no sin.’ The chief interest of the Stoical
ideal consists in the parallel it affords at many points to
different phases of religious feeling. One of these points is
the tendency, more or less vaguely connecting itself with the
Stoic doctrine, to divide all the world into the good and the
bad, or, as they expressed it, into the wise and the fools—an
idea evidently belonging to the inner life, and hard to bring
into conformity with external facts. Entirely in the same
direction, the Stoics said that short of virtue—in other words,
short of the standard of perfection—all faults and vices were
equal. Chrysippus, indeed, tried to soften down this asser-
tion; but in its extreme form it only reminds us of certain
sayings which have been heard in modern times, about the
‘worthlessness of morality.’ In the presence of a dazzling
ideal of spiritual perfection, the minor distinctions of right
and wrong seem to lose their meaning.

The Stoies, after portraying their Wise Man, were free to
confess that such a character did not exist, and indeed never
had existed. With small logical consistency, but with much
human truth, while they allowed their assertions about the
worthlessness of all except absolute wisdom to remain, and
always held up this unattained and unattainable ideal, they
admitted another conception to stand, though unacknow-
grees beside it—namely, the conception of ‘ advance.’ '®
Zeno and the rest, though they did not claim to be wise, yet
claimed to be ‘advancing.’ This notion of conscious moral
progress and self-discipline is too familiar now for us easily

18. προκοπή, προκόπτειν (Diog. Laert. vi. i. 54). In Latin, profectus, proficere
(Seneca, Ep. 71).

262 ESSAY VI.

to believe that it was first introduced into Greece in the
third century B.c. It may be said, indeed, to: be contained
implicitly in Aristotle’s theory of ‘ habits ;’ but it is in reality
the expression of a new and totally different spirit. By this
spirit we shall find the later Stoics deeply penetrated. It
constituted perhaps the most purely ‘moral’ notion of
antiquity, as implying the deepest associations which are
attached to the word “ moral.’

Another great idea, of which the introduction is generally
attributed to the Stoics, is the idea of ‘duty ;’ but on con-
sideration we shall perceive that this, entirely conformable as
it was with their point of view, was not all at once enunciated
by them, but was only gradually developed in or by means
of their philosophy. There were two correlative terms intro-
duced by the early Stoics, signifying the ‘ suitable’ 15 and the
‘right.’ The ‘right’ could only be said of actions having
perfect moral worth. The ‘suitable’ included all that fitted
in harmoniously with the course of life—everything that
could on good grounds be recommended or defended. This
term, the ‘suitable,’ seems to fall short of the moral sig-
nificance of what we mean by duty; and yet it is remarkable
that this term became translated into Latin as officiwm, and
thus really stands to our word ‘duty’ in the position of lineal
antecedent. So much casuistical discussion took place upon
what was, or was not, ‘ suitable,’ that a train of associations
became attached to the word, associations which were in- —
herited by the Romans. Thus the idea of duty grew up,
more belonging, perhaps, to the Roman than to the Greek

19. καθῆκον and κατόρθωμα, Stob. Hcl. | Paneetius gave no definition of his
ii. 158. Cicero's De Officiis is taken, | subject (De Off... ii.7). Thus we see
with but little alteration and addition, | that the Greek Stoics had really no
from the work of Panztius, περὶ τῶν | formula to express what we mean by
καθηκόντων. Cicero complains that | duty.

THE STOIC COSMOPOLITANISM. 263

elements in the Stoical spirit, fostered by a national sternness
and a love of law, and ultimately borrowing its modes of
expression from the formule of Roman jurisprudence.”

The most prominent conception in the Stoical system being
the effort to attain a perfect life in conformity with universal
laws, we may now ask what forms the background to this
picture? Aristotle and Plato would certainly have conceived
to themselves a limited state, essentially Greek in character,
the institutions of which should furnish sufficiently favourable
conditions for the life of the Wise Man. But in the third
century 8.0. these restricted notions had become exploded.
Zeno now imagined, what surpassed the Republic of Plato,.a
universal state, with one government and manner of life for
all mankind. This admired polity,?! which Plutarch calls ‘a
dream of philosophic statesmanship,’ and which, he rheto-
Tieally says, was realized by Alexander the Great, owed, no
doubt, its origin to the influence upon men’s minds produced
by the conquests of Alexander. This influence, partly de-
pressing,—in so far as it diminished the sense of freedom,
and robbed men of their healthy, keen, and personal interest
in politics,—was also partly stimulating, since it unfolded a
wider horizon, and the possibility of conceiving a universal
state. Thus were the national and exclusive ideas of Greece,
as afterwards of Rome, changed into cosmopolitanism. The
first lesson of cosmopolitanism, that said, ‘ there is no differ-
ence between Greeks and barbarians—the world is our city,’
must have seemed a mighty revelation. To say this was quite
natural to Stoicism, which, drawing the mind away from

_ 39 For instance, the word ‘obligation’ | is owing’) are intertwined inextricably
is a Latin law term. The word ‘law’ | with legal associations.

itself is employed with a moral mean- 21 Plutarch, Dz Alexandri Magni
ing, and on consideration it will be | fortuné aut virtute, 6. vi.

found that our notions of duty (‘ what

264 ESSAY VI.

surrounding objects, bids it soar into the abstract and the
universal. By denying the reality and the interest of na-
tional politics, the moral importance of the individual was
immensely enhanced. Ethics were freed from all connexion
with external institutions, and were joined in a new and close
alliance to physics and theology. ἢ

The cosmopolitanism of the Stoics was a cosmopolitanism
in the widest etymological sense, for they regarded not the
inhabited earth alone, but the whole universe, as man’s city.
Undistracted by political ideas, they placed the individual in
direct relation to the laws of the Cosmos. Hence Chrysippus
said,?? that ‘no ethical subject could be rightly approached
except from the preconsideration of entire nature and the
ordering of the whole.’ Hence his regular preamble to every
discussion of good, evil, ends, justice, marriage, education,
and the like, was some exordium about Fate or Providence.
So close and absolute a dependence of the individual upon
the Divine First Cause was asserted by the Stoics, that their
theological system reminds us, to some extent, of modern
Calvinism, or of the doctrines of Spinoza. Body, they said,
is the only substance. Nothing incorporeal could act upon
what is corporeal, or vice versd. The First Cause” of all is
God, or Zeus—the universal reason, the world-spirit, which
may also be represented as the primeval fire, just as the soul
of man, which is an emanation from it, consists of a warm
ether. God, by transformation of his own essence, makes
the world. All things come forth from the bosom of God,
and into it all things will again return, when by universal
conflagration the world sinks into the divine fire, and God is

22 Ap. Plutarch, De Repug. Stoicis, | parts of the doctrine, see Dr. Zeller’s
Calm Philosophie der Griechen, vol. iii. This

28. For the particulars of their phy- | book contains the most complete and
sical and theological system, and the | accurate account of the Stoics which
authorities which establish the various | has yet been written.

THE THEOLOGY OF THE STOICS. 265

again left alone. The universe is a living and rational whole ;
for how else could the human soul, which is but a part of that
whole, be rational and conscious? If the Cosmos be com- "
pared to an individual man, then Providence is like the spirit
ofaman. Thus all things are very good, being ordered and
preordained by the divine reason. This reason is also des-
tiny, which is defined to be™ ‘the law according to which
what has been, has been; what is, is; and what shall be,
shall be.’ The round world hangs balanced in an infinite
vacuum. It is made up of four elements—fire and air, which
are active powers ; water and earth, which are passive mate-
rials. Within it are four classes of natural objects—inorganic
substances, plants, animals, and rational beings. First and
highest among rational beings are the sun and the stars and
all the heavenly bodies, which, as Plato and Aristotle used
_ to say, are conscious, reasonable, and blessed existences.
These, indeed, are created gods, divine but not eternal.
They will at last, like all things else, return into the unity
of the primeval fire. Other gods, or rather other manifesta-
tions of the one divine principle, exist in the elements and
the powers of nature, which, accordingly, are rightly wor-
shipped by the people, and have received names expressive
of their different attributes. Heroes, also, with divine
qualities, are justly deified; and the Wise Man is divine,
since he bears a god within himself. In this city of Zeus,
where all is holy, and earth and sky are full of gods, the
individual man is but a part of the whole—only one expres-
sion of the universal law. 5

Abstractedly, the theology of the Stoics appears as ἃ mate-
rialistic pantheism ; God is represented as a fire, and the
world as a mode of God. But, practically, this aspect of the

24 Plutarch, De Placitis Philosophorum, i. 28.

266 ESSAY VI.

creed is softened by two feelings—by their strong sense, first,
of the personality of God; and secondly, of the individuality
of man. These feelings express themselves in the hymn of
Cleanthes, the most devotional fragment” of Grecian an-
tiquity. In this hymn, Zeus is addressed as highest of the
gods, having many names, always omnipotent, leader of
nature, and governing all things by law.

‘Thee,’ continues the poet, ‘it is lawful for all mortals to
address. For® we are thy offspring, and alone of living
creatures possess a voice which is the image of. reason.
Therefore, I will for ever sing thee and celebrate thy power.
All this universe rolling round the earth obeys thee, and
follows willingly at thy command. Such a minister hast thou
in thy invincible hands, the two-edged, flaming, vivid thun-
derbolt. O King, most high, nothing is done without thee

25 Preserved by Stobeus, Ecl. Phys. | St. Paul:—‘God, that made the world
i. 30. and all things therein, seeing that he

36. Ἔκ σοῦ γὰρ γένος ἐσμέν, ins μίμημα | is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth
λαχόντες Μοῦνοι. It is difficult to be- | not in temples made with hands;
lieve that the first part of thisline, and | neither is worshipped with men’s
the hymn of Cleanthes in general, is | hands as though he needed anything,
not alluded to by St. Paulin his speech | seeing he giveth to all life and breath
at Athens. It was after encountering | and all things, and hath made of one
certain philosophers of the Epicureans | blood all nations of men, for to dwell
and of the Stoics that he ‘stood up in | on all the face of the earth, and hath
the midst of Mars’ Hill’ and addressed | determined the times before appointed
the multitude. While speaking to the | and the bounds of their habitation;
mass of the Athenians, and making | that they should seek after the Lord,
the popular superstition his starting- | if haply they might feel after him and
point, St. Paul appears also to appeal | find him, though he be not far from
to the philosophic part of his audience, | every one of us. For in him we live
weaving in their ideas into his speech, | and move and have our being, as cer-
and referring to their literature. Thus | tain also of your own poets have said,
the cosmopolitan theory of the Stoies | For we are also his offspring.’ The
seems to be distinctly assumed, and | saying that ‘God dwelleth not in tem-
both Aratus and Cleanthes may be | ples made with hands’ agrees re-
comprehended under the terms ‘cer- | markably with the expressions of
tain of your own poets.’ It is in- | Zeno, ap. Plutarch, De Repug. Stoic.
teresting, after reading the Stoical ὁ. 2. :
verses, to turn to the exact words of |

THE HYMN OF CLEANTHES. 267

neither in heaven or on earth, nor in the sea, except what the
wicked do in their foolishness. Thou makest order out of
disorder, and what is worthless becomes precious in thy
sight; for thou hast fitted together good and evil into one,
and hast established one law that exists for ever. But the
wicked fly from thy law, unhappy ones, and though they
desire to possess what is good, yet they see not, neither do
they hear, the universal law of God. If they would follow it
with understanding, they might have a good life. But they
go astray, each after his own devices—some vainly striving
after reputation, others turning aside after gain excessively,
others after riotous living and wantonness, Nay, but, O.
Zeus, giver of all things, who dwellest in dark clouds, and
rulest over the thunder, deliver men from their foolishness.
Scatter it from their souls, and grant them to obtain wisdom,
, for by wisdom thou dost rightly govern all things; that being
honoured we may repay thee with honour, singing thy works
without ceasing, as is right for us to do. For there is no
greater thing than this, either for mortal men or for the gods,
to sing rightly the universal law.’

In this interesting fragment we see, above all, a belief in
the unity of God. This, Plato and Aristotle had most cer-
tainly arrived at. Even in the popular ideas it probably lay
behind all polytheistic forms, as being a truth necessary to
the mind. But Monotheism here, as in the early Hebrew
Scriptures, is co-existentwith a mention of other gods besides
the one highest God. These are represented as inferior to
~Zeus, and singing his praises. The human soul is here de-
picted as deriving all happiness from wisdom and a know-
ledge of God. The knowledge of God and a devotional
regard to Him are mentioned as needs of the human soul,
though the knowledge spoken of appears partly under the
aspect of an intuition into the universal and impersonal law.

268 ESSAY VI.

When Cleanthes speaks of ‘ repaying God with honour,’
we see a strong assertion of the worth of the individual.
Heraclitus had said of old that ‘Zeus looks on the wisest
man as we look on an ape.’ But now the feeling about
these things was changed, and Chrysippus?’ even went so far
as to say, that ‘ the sage is not less useful to Zeus than Zeus
is to the sage, —a saying which is rendered less offensive by
taking it partly in a metaphysical sense, to mean that the
individual is as necessary to the universal law as vice versa.
As strong an assertion as this would seem almost required
to counterbalance the absorbing necessarian element in early
Stoicism. At first it excites surprise that a system putting
so great store on the moral will should on the other hand
appear to annihilate it. If all proceeds by destiny, what
scope is left for individual action, for self-discipline and
moral advance? But we must leave this contradiction un-
resolved. Other systems with a profoundly moral bearing
have also maintained the doctrine of necessity. And it was
plainly the intention of the Stoics that the Wise Man, by
raising himself to the consciousness of universal necessity,
should become free, while all those who had not attained to
this consciousness remained in bondage. ‘Lead me, Zeus,
and thou Destiny,’** says Cleanthes, in another fragment,
‘whithersoever I am by you appointed. I will follow not
reluctant ; but even though I am unwilling through badness,
I shall follow none the less.’ Yet still with the Stoics the
individual element remained equally valid; the individual
consciousness was the starting-point of their thought; and

27 Plutarch, Adversus Stoicos, 33. ὡς ἕψομαί γ᾽ ἄοκνος- ἣν δὲ μὴ θέλω
25 ἄγου δέ μ᾽ ὦ Ζεῦ, καὶ σύ γ᾽ ἡ Πε- κακὸς γενόμενος, οὐδὲν ἧττον ἕψομαι.
πρωμένη, These verses are translated by Seneca.

ὅποι ποθ᾽ ὑμῖν εἰμὶ διατεταγμένος,

THE STOIC NECESSARIANISM. 269

hence the difficulty arose, as in modern times, how to recon-
cile the opposite ideas of individual freedom, and of a world
absolutely predetermined by divine reason. ΤῸ the task of
this reconciliation Chrysippus devoted himself, and Cicero
describes him as ‘labouring painfully to explain how all
things happen by Fate, and yet that there is something in
ourselves.’*® To effect this, he drew ἃ. distinction between
‘ predisposing’ and ‘ determinant’ causes, and said that only
the ‘ predisposing’ causes rested with Fate,#° while the ‘de-
terminant’ cause was always in the human will. This dis-
tinction will hardly bear much scrutiny. When Chrysippus
was confronted with what philosophers called the ‘ lazy.
argument’*!—namely, the very simple question, Why should
I do anything, if all is fated? Why, for instance, should I
send for the doctor, since, whether I do so or not, the ques-
‘tion of my recovery is already fixed by fate?—to this he
replied, It is perhaps as much fated that you should send for
the doctor, as that you should get well; these things are
ς confatal.’ In other words, the fate of the Stoics was, of
course, a rational fate, acting, not supernaturally, but by the
whole chain of cause and effect. The reasonings of Chry-
sippus are interesting historically, as being the first attempt
to meet some of the difficulties of the doctrine of human
freedom; and much that he urges has been repeated in after- _
times. We have already seen the optimism of Cleanthes
expressed in his hymn.” He says on the one hand, that
nothing is evil in the hands of God; God fits good and evil
together into one frame. On the other hand, he says that
‘God does all that is done in the world, except the wicked-

39. Fragment of Cicero, De Fato, ap. | tapruchy μόνον ἐποιεῖτο τὴν Εἱμαρμένην.
Aul. Gell. va. ii. 15. 31 ἀργὸς λόγος (Cicero, De Fato,
% Plut. De Repug. Stoic. xlvii.: οὐκ | xii—xiii.).
αὐτοτελῆ τούτων αἰτίαν, ἀλλὰ mpoKa-

270 ESSAY VI.

ness.’ Chrysippus, touching on the existence of evil and the
afflictions which happen to good men, says that the existence
of evilis necessary, as being the contrary to good ;** without
it, good could not exist. Again, that as in a large family a -
little waste must occur, so in the world there must be parts
overlooked and neglected. Again, that the good are afflicted,
not as a punishment, but ‘ according to another dispensation.’
Again, that evil demons may preside over some parts of the
world. These inconsistent arguments show a great advance
in theology. The first is, perhaps, the most philosophical.
It is taken from Heraclitus, according to whom all things
exist by the unity of contradiction. Plutarch objects to this
argument, that if good can only exist by implying evil, what
will become of the good after the conflagration of the world,
when Zeus is all in all? If evil is destroyed, then good will
be destroyed also; an objection hard to answer from the
point of view of Chrysippus.

The Stoics generally professed themselves on the side of the
‘common notions.’ They accepted the popular theology, in
an allegorizing spirit, as being a slightly perverted expression
of the truth. Though denying the marvellous and the
supernatural, and being quite unable to attribute to God a
meddling in the minwtie of human affairs, they yet declared**
for the reality of omens, oracles, and portents. They explained
their belief by saying that there was no special revelation,
but that certain signs were universally preordained to accom-
pany certain events. The portent and the thing to be sig-
nified were ‘ confatal.’ Thus the world was full of divine
coincidences, if men could but discern them. We can well
fancy that this theme would suit the subtle intellect of Chry-

82 Plutarch, De Repug. Stoic, xxxv.— % Cicero, De Divinatione, τ, iii., &e.
XXxyii. —Seneca, Quest. Nat. ii. 52.

THE STOIC THEOLOGY. 271

sippus, who appears to have written two books on Divination,
one on Oracles, and one on Dreams. Buta difference on the
subject afterwards arose in the school, and Panetius expressed
his doubts as to the reality of divination. With regard to the
doctrine of future rewards and punishments, the Stoics were
opposed to the general belief. Chrysippus finds fault with
Plato for having, in the person of Cephalus, adopted such a
vulgar bugbear.*t But they asserted the moral government
of the world, saying that the good alone are happy, and that
misfortunes happen to the wicked by Divine Providence. The
Stoics would seem excluded by their theological system from
holding the immortality of the soul. If all the world by con-.
flagration sinks into the essence of God, how can the indi-
vidual soul continue to exist? But, on the other hand, if there
be any principle in the human mind, short of revelation, which
would lead men to trust and believe in their own immortality,
it must assuredly be that principle which so largely animates
Stoicism—the principle of aspiration, of moral energy, of a
life above all ordinary pleasures and interests. ‘ Let us eat
and drink, for to-morrow we die,’ is the maxim of extreme
Epicurism; and though the Stoic might say, through the force
of his will, ‘I die to-morrow, yet I will do the right’—this
preference of the right above all things will be found in the
long run to have more affinity for the ‘immortal longings,’
than for any mere system of materialism. As a matter of
fact, we find that the Roman Stoics came gradually to blend
the thoughts of another life with the practice of their stern
virtue. Cleanthes and Chrysippus had spoken only of a possible
continuance of the souls of the wise until the next conflagra-
tion; but Cato fortified his last hours with ideas not drawn

34 τὸν περὶ τῶν ὑπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ κολάσεων | κακοσχολεῖν ai γυναῖκες ἀνείργουσι.---
λόγον, ὡς οὐδὲν διαφέροντα τῆς ᾿Ακκοῦς | Plut. De Repug. Stoic. ec. xii.
καὶ τῆς ᾿Αλφιτοῦς, δι’ ὧν τὰ παιδάρια τοῦ Ἃ

272 ESSAY VI.

from these authorities, but from the Phedo of Plato. It may
be questioned whether a frequent dwelling on the thought of
suicide, as allowable and even praiseworthy, is most often
accompanied, or not, by the belief in a future life. The first
Stoics, by their precept and example, recommended the wise,
on occasion, to “ usher themselves out’* of life. If suicide,
thus dignified by a name, were an escape from mere pain or
annoyance, it would be an Epicurean act; but as a flight from
what is degrading—as a great piece of renunciation, it assumes
a Stoical appearance. The passion for suicide reached its
height in the writings of Seneca, under the wretched cireum-
stances of the Roman despotism; but, on the whole, it be-
longs to immature Stoicism—Epictetus and Marcus Aurelius
dissuaded from it. In saying this, we cannot for a moment
pretend that the Stoical principle ever entirely purified itself
from alloy; it was too wanting in objective elements—it had
too little to draw men out of themselves ever to satisfy the
human spirit, ever to be otherwise than very imperfect. Stoical
pride will always be a just subject of reproach; for the de-
velopment of the subjective element of morality necessary to
the deepening of the thoughts of the world was overdone by
the Stoics, and they supplied nothing in counterbalance. It
is not as a complete system, or with any inherent capacity for
completeness, certainly not as a rival to Christianity, that
we regard the Stoical Idea; but rather as the manifestation
amongst the Greeks and Romans of a peculiar kind of human
tendency,—one which exists within Christianity also—which
constantly appears in history, and which meets us in daily
life.36

35 ἐξάγειν ἑαυτούς, -ἐξαγωγή is the | hitherto omitted all mention of the
regular word with the Stoics for sui- | non-ethical doctrines of the Stoics,
cide.—Diog. Laert. vu. i. 66. their threefold division of philosophy,

%6 This Essay, which cannot in the | and their achievements in the province
least aim at being exhaustive, has | of logic. Suffice it to say, that these

STOICISM BROUGHT TO ROME. 273

II. Let us turn now to watch the promulgation of that
doctrine, the leading traits of which we have endeavoured to
describe, and which was destined not to remain the property
of a mere school in Athens, but rather to become an active
influence among the Roman spirits, and to some extent a
regenerating element in the last days of Pagan civilization.
There was a direct succession, as we have seen above (p. 246),
in the lists of the Stoic doctors from Chrysippus to Posidonius,
During the interval
spanned by these successive teachers (from 200 8.6. to 50 B.C.),

and Posidonius was master to Cicero.

many circumstances turned the tide of philosophy towards
Rome, and commenced the intellectual subjugation of the.
victors in the domain of thought as well as of imaginative
literature. The first awakenings of the national curiosity are
somewhat obscured. Aulus Gellius records a decree of the
‘Senate, of the date B.c. 161, for banishing from Rome philo-
sophers and rhetoricians, at the instance of M. Pomponius,
the pretor. This fact appears to stand in isolation. Six years
later (B.c. 155), we hear of the famous embassy of the philo-

is the test of truth in our ideas?
They seem to have professed, on this

were the least essential parts of
Stoicism. Still they exhibit a charac-

teristic approach to modern views.
The division of science into logic,
physic, and ethic, arose naturally out
of the position which philosophy had
assumed under Aristotle. But to give
ethic and logic such an independent
footing was original and modern. Small
thanks are due to the Stoics for ele-
vating logic, so-called, into a separate
science. By so doing they have caused
a great waste of human thought.
With them, as ever since, logic was a
vague name, including grammar, rhe-
torie, and metaphysics. They adopted
and carried out the principles of the
syllogism. One of their first ques-
tions was, 85 to the ‘ Criterium,’ What

head, a sort of ‘natural realism,’ and
a theory of knowledge similar to that
of Locke. This was a descent from
the old philosophic height; it was in
opposition to the scepticism of the
New Academy, and was connected
with their practical point of view.
Chrysippus, however, as a dialectical
tour de force, wrote six books ‘ against
custom,’ in which he collected all that
could be said against common ideas
arising from association. Plutarch

. says that his arguments on his own

side were not of equal force. How-
ever, the Stoics remain true to their
own theory as ‘common-sense philo-
sophers.’

274 ESSAY VI.

sophers sent from Athens to Rome to obtain the remission
of a fine. Doubt®’ has been thrown on the reality of this
event. But independent of the constant oral tradition from
Scipio and Leelius down to Cicero, the historical certainty of
the embassy is established by a reference which Cicero makes*
to the writings of Clitomachus, a Carthaginian philosopher
who settled at Athens, and was disciple to Carneades imme-
diately after the date assigned to the embassy, and who there-
fore is an undoubted authority for the facts. However, we
may easily believe that the story has been decked out and
improved. In some accounts, Carneades the Academic, and
Diogenes the Stoic, are mentioned as the envoys; but other
accounts, probably for completeness’ sake, add Critolaus the
Peripatetic. And hence it came to be said*® that these three
represented the three styles of oratory—the florid, the severe,
and the moderate. Cicero*® tells us of a philosophic party at
Rome, in compliment to whom these particular ambassadors
were sent; while, on the other hand, Cato the Censor viewed
with impatience their favourable reception, and urged upon
the Senate their speedy dismissal. The most interesting
anecdote connected with this embassy is that quoted from the
works of Clitomachus,—that A. Albinus, the preetor, said to
Carneades in the Capitol, before the Senate, ‘Is it true, Car-
neades, that you think I am no pretor because I am not a
wise man, and that this is no city, and that there is no true
state in it?? To which Carneades replied, ‘I don’t think so,
but this Stoic does.’ This story amusingly represents the
confusion in the mind of the Roman pretor, who did not dis-
tinguish between the philosophical schools, but was struck by
the great paradox he had heard, and was not able to compre-

87 Mr. Merivale’s History of the 38. Academics, ii, Xv.
Romans under the Empire, ii. p. §11, %® Aulus Gellius, vii. xiv. 3.
note. 40. De Oratore, ii, xxxvu.

PAN ZETIUS. 275

hend that inner point of view from which it was said that
mighty Rome was no city, and the august pretor had no real
office or authority at all.

The anti-philosophical party seem to have continued their
exertions at Rome, and under the date 93 8.0. we read‘? of
a decree of the censors Domitius AZnobarbus and Licinius
Crassus against the schools in which a new sort of learning
was taught by those who called themselves Latin rhetoricians,
and where youths wasted their whole days in sloth. This
decree is in fine grand Roman style; it says, ‘these things
do not please us.’ But it was in vain to attempt resisting the
influx of Greek philosophy, when the leading and most able
men warmly welcomed it. Africanus, C. Lelius, and L.
Furius were extremely pleased at the embassy, and always
had learned Greeks in their company. A little later than
' 150 B.C., no one was more instrumental in recommending
Stoicism to the-Romans than Panetius of Rhodes, whose in-
structions in Athens were attended by Lelius and his son-
in-law, C. Fanucius, and also by the conqueror of Carthage.
Panetius accompanied the latter on his famous mission to
the courts in Asia Minor and Egypt. He is always spoken
of as the friend and companion of Scipio and Lelius. He is
recorded to have sent a letter to Q. Tubero, on the endurance
of pain. Not only by personal intercourse did Panetius
influence the cultivated Romans, but also still more by his
books. These seem to have been of a character eminently
fitted for the comprehension of the Romans, being extremely
practical, avoiding the harshness and severity of the early
Stoics, and being free from ‘the thorns of dialectic.‘ One
peculiarity above all, while it made Panztius a worse Stoic,
made him at the same time a more attractive expositor of

Ἐς Aulus Gellius, xv. xi. | 42 Cicero, De Fin. iv. xxvul. 79.

Tr 2

276 ESSAY VI.

philosophy, and was only a fulfilment, after all, of the destiny
of Stoicism—namely, his tendency to eclecticism. He con-
stantly had Plato, Aristotle, Xenocrates, Theophrastus, Dicse-
archus, in his mouth; he was always speaking** of Plato as
divine, most wise, most holy, and the Homer of philosophers.
We can form a very good conception of his writings from
Cicero’s work On Offices, which is taken almost exactly from
Panetius’ On Things Suitable. An extract verbatim,
from the latter, is preserved by Aulus Gellius. It recom-
mends those who are mixed up in affairs to be on their
guard, like pugilists, against every sort of attack. It isin ~
rhetorical style, and full of a sensible worldly prudence. Such
prudence is no more alien from a particular phase of Stoicism,
than it is from a particular phase of religion.

Posidonius (B.c. 135-50) maintained the same intercourse
with the Romans, and the same eclectic tendencies as his’
master. After the death of Panztius (B.c. 112), he made
some extensive travels for the sake of physical inquiry. At
Cadiz he spent some time in observations on the sunset; he
visited Sicily, Dalmatia, and other countries, and finally
settled in Rhodes. Strabo, with a sympathy for his geo-
graphical knowledge, called him ‘the most learned philoso-
pher of the day.’ In the year 86 8.0. he was sent as
ambassador to Rome, and became acquainted with Marius.
Pompey visited Posidonius twice in Rhodes (67 and 62 B.c.);
and the story goes that on one of these occasions Posidonius,
having a bad fit of the gout, discoursed from his bed to
Pompey on the topic. ‘ that virtue is the only good, and that
pain is no evil.’ Cicero also studied under him in Rhodes;
and finally, coming to Rome in his old age (B.c. 51), he died
there a short time afterwards, having had as his hearers

‘8 Cicero, Tusculan. Disputat. i. xxxu. 79.

PHILOSOPHERS IN THE HOUSEHOLD OF GREAT MEN. 277

C. Velleius, C. Cotta, Q. Lucilius Balbus, and probably Brutus.
Posidonius wrote a commentary on the Timeus of Plato,
apparently to reconcile it with the Stoical physics. He
approximated in some things to Aristotle, and even, it is said,
to Pythagoras. On divination, however, he reverted to the
old Stoical view, abandoning the scepticism of Panetius.
The ancients make mention of the elegance of his style; and
Cicero, while dissenting from his opinions on fate and other
subjects, speaks of him at the same time with the greatest
respect.
Beside those Stoics who were of eminence and originality
enough to advance, though only by amalgamation, the tra
ditionary doctrine, there were by this time many others who
received it merely and adopted it as an article of faith,
without thinking of addition or change. Such was probably
‘ Antipater of Tyre, who became the friend and instructor of
Cato the younger. And now we find, in the last half-century
before Christ, frequent instances of a new fashion in Rome—
namely, for a great man to maintain a philosopher in his
house, as in modern days a private confessor. Of this
custom Cato‘ of Utica was himself an instance, for he is
reported to have made a journey to Pergamus with the
express object of inducing the famous Stoic Athenodorus,
surnamed Cordylion, to accompany him to Rome, in which
mission he succeeded, and brought back the sage in triumph,
who ended his days in the house of Cato. After this, at
Utica, Cato appears to have had among the members of his
family Demetrius a Peripatetic, and Apollonides a Stoic.
On the night before Cato’s suicide, they disputed with each
other on the paradox that the Wise Man only is free, Cato

44 Plutarch, Cato Minor, ¢. x.

278 ESSAY VI.

warmly supporting the Stoical side. Another‘ Athenodorus,
of the same sect, but surnamed Cananites, was highly
honoured by the great Augustus. Attracting the notice of
the Emperor at Apollonia, where he held a school, he was
invited to Rome, and had the young Claudius placed under
his instruction. In his old age returning to Tarsus, he seems
to have procured some advantages for his country through
his influence with Augustus. Among the few works attri-
buted to him there is one with an eminently Stoical title,
On Earnestness and Education.

Arguing by analogy from these external indications, we
may imagine the Roman nation at this period imbibing
Greek philosophy, or so-called philosophy, at every pore.
The Romans, indeed, had not the slightest stomach for meta-
physics, and in no one of their writers do we find any trace
of a real acquaintance with the systems of Plato or Aristotle.
But we can find abundant traces of an acquaintance with
Epicurus and Chrysippus, and Panetius and Posidonius.
The inducement of the Romans in taking up with this kind
of literature was twofold: first, a natural affinity for practical
moralizing and maxims of life; second, a rhetorical necessity
—the desire to turn sentences, to be terse, apposite, and |
weighty. The constant practice of declamation gave an im-
mense stimulus to the sermonizing tendency of the day, and
as the despotism of the Empire shut up other subjects,
declamation became more and more exclusively moral. In-
struction under some Greek rhetorician became part of the
education of a Roman youth, and in Athens, Rhodes, Mar-
seilles, and Alexandria, everywhere throughout the great
Roman world, Sophists and declaimers might be heard
setting forth the theses of the different schools, among which

1. Smith’s Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography, sub voce.

PHILOSOPHY AMONG THE ROMANS. 279

the florid paradoxes of the Stoics were no doubt most
striking and attractive.

The Romans who took any side in philosophy invariably
became either Epicureans, Stoics, or Academics, or else, as
was not unfrequent, they combined *® the Academical opinions
on knowledge with the Stoical morals and some admixture
of the Stoical physics. This was the case with L. Lucullus,
with M. Brutus, and Terentius Varro. Cicero’s creed we
know to have been a learned and sensible eclecticism, a
qualified Stoicism with a use of the Academic arguments,
and an approach in some things to the Peripatetic views.
Such a compound was suitable to a statesman and a man of
letters; it exhibits acuteness, refinement, breadth of view,
and an affinity to what is elevated in the different systems :
but at the same time it avoids all extremes, and shuns that
‘unity of principle on which philosophy, properly so called,
depends. When such a balance as this was wanting, the
Romans joined the opposite ranks of the Stoics or the
Epicureans. To either side they had certain elements that
inclined them. Their capacity for the physical enjoy-
ment of life, their taste for rural ease and the delights of
their beautiful villas, and that healthy realism which we
find expressed by Lucretius, all tended to recommend the
Epicurean doctrine to the Romans. And added to these
predisposing causes was the fact that the first book of
philosophy written in the Latin language was the work of
one Amafinius,‘” setting forth Epicurism. This treatise,
though of no merit according to Cicero, had immense in-
fluence, and brought over the multitude to adopt its views.
‘Other works of a similar character followed, and through

46 Ritter’s History of Ancient Phi- 47 Cicero, Tusc. Disp. iv. 1m. ; Acad.
losophy (translated by Mr. Morrison), | Pos¢. τι,
vol. iv. pp. 78, 79:

280 ESSAY VI.

their popular style took possession of the whole of Italy.’
Of this phase of feeling hardly any trace remains to us, if we
except the splendid poem of Lucretius, and the record of one
or two great names among the Roman Epicureans, such as
Atticus, the friend of Cicero, Cassius, the murderer of Cesar,
L. Torquatus, and C. Velleius. Perhaps its most lasting
result was the spread of ‘a wisdom,’ as Livy calls it,
‘which had learned to despise the gods.’ Epicurism was
transient in Rome, like Sentimentalism in England, because
alien to the national characteristics; for on the whole the
Romans were far more disposed to energy and sublime
virtue, and the conquest of external circumstances, than to
easy and harmonious enjoyment. Without a great intel-
lectual capacity for the apprehension of the universal, there
was yet something abstract about their turn of mind; this is
shown in their love of law, and in the sternness of the high
Roman mood. It has been often said that the old Roman
And now, from Cato to

M. Aurelius, we find through the Roman empire an im-

worthies were unconscious Stoics.

mense diffusion of Stoical principles and of the professors
of Stoicism.**

III. These professors assumed, it appears, not only dis-
tinctive principles, but also certain external marks and

ter, and induced him to practise this
kind of asceticism at one time; but

48. Among the most celebrated of
these is to be named Q. Sextius, con-

temporary with Julius Cesar, who
founded aschool. This school, Seneca
tells us (Quest. Nat. vit. xxxii.), began
with great éclat, but soon became ex-
tinct. He says of Sextius that he was

a great man and a Stoic, although he
himself denied this.” Sextius appears
to have followed Pythagoras in some
points, and to have enjoined absti-
nence from animal food. Sotion, the
disciple of Sextius, was Seneca’s mas-

after a year’s trial of it, he was per-
suaded by his father, who ‘ hated phi-
losophy,’ and who dreaded the i >» impu-
tation of certain foreign superstitions, —
to return to the common mode of diét.
(Zp. eviii.) What is most remarkable
about Sextius is his daily habit, ac-
cording to Seneca (De Jra, m1. xxxvi.),
of self-examination. This shows the
spirit of the times.

CHARACTERISTICS OF THE ROMAN STOICS. 281

badges of their sect. We read in Juvenal‘® of the ‘long
robe’ as synonymous with Stoicism; in Persius we read of
their close-cropped hair, Ὁ and their look of having sat up
all night; in Tacitus,®! of their set countenances and gait
expressive of virtue. Like their Jewish counterpart, the
Pharisees, they were formal, austere, pretentious, and not
unfrequently hypocritical. Under the mask of asceticism,
they appear sometimes to have concealed gross licentious-
ness,°? and under their sanctimonious face the blackest
heart. With bitter indignation does Tacitus®* record the
perfidy of Publius Egnatius Celer, the Stoic philosopher, the
client, the instructor, and the false friend of Barea Soranus,
whom, with his daughter, he betrayed to Nero, by giving the
lying evidence which procured their deaths. Such cases as
this, however, are to be regarded like stories of the corrup-
' tion of priests and monks, and to be judged apart, as giving
no sufficient clue to the working of the system. Partly they
illustrate the maxim that ‘that corruption is worst which is
the corruption of the best ;’ partly they show that an elevated
and spiritual creed is apt, by the very nobleness of its
appearance, to attract unworthy followers. We may also
add that, beside the antinomian tendencies which might
logically be connected with this creed,’ there was a narrow-
ness in the intensity of Stoicism, and an abstract unreality
about its ideas, not favourable to the development of the
more human virtues. Acknowledging these things, we may
turn away from this ungracious side of the system, and leave

4 «Facinus majoris abolle.’—Sut. | citus.’—Annal. xvi. 32.
iii, 115. 52. *Frontis nulla fides, quis enim
50<Tnsomnis .. . et detonsa juventus.’ non vicus abundat
— Sat. iii. 54. Tristibus obsccenis ἢ ἢ
_ 51 ¢P. Egnatius... auctoritatem Sto- Juy. Sat. 11. 8.
ice sectee preeferebat, habitu et ore ad 58 Ann. Xvi. 32, 33>
exprimendam imaginem honesti exer- 54 See above, p. 261.

282 ESSAY VI.

it to the tender mercies of the satirists. For even externally,
Stoicism, on the whole, presented a better aspect and won a
better opinion than this from intelligent observers during the
early Roman empire. Nothing can be more significant than
the accusation brought against C. Rubellius Plautus” by
Tigellinus. This Plautus was son of Julia, and great-grand-
son of Tiberius. Becoming an object of suspicion to Nero,
he retired—not from the Roman world, for that was impos-
sible, but from the Court—to Asia, where he lived in the
pursuit of the Stoic philosophy. Tigellinus, to stir up Nero’s
hatred against him, declared, ‘That man, though of immense
wealth, does not even pretend a wish for enjoyment, but is
always bringing forward the examples of the ancient Romans.
And he has now joined to these ideas the arrogance of the
Stoics—a philosophy which makes men turbulent and rest-
less.’ It is easy to see that this accusation was a panegyric.
It was followed up by an order sent from Nero that Plautus
should be put to death. His friends counselled resistance,
but Czranus and Musonius Rufus, two philosophers who
were with him, preached the doctrine of resignation and
fortitude; and armed with their suggestions, he met his
death unmoved. This manner of death and life was not
confined to Plautus: the reigns of Claudius and Nero ex-
hibit a constellation of noble characters, formed on the
model of the younger Cato, and showing the same repub-
lican front and the same practical conception of Stoicism as
he did. Such were Cecina Peetus and his heroic wife Arria,
who died at the command of Claudius. Such was Soranus
Barea, already mentioned, and such Thrasea, and his son-in-
law Helvidius. Seneca, too, in his death, at all events, must

°° Tacitus, Annal, xiv. 57. Cf. | ὀξείας φύσεις ἐπισφαλὲς καὶ παράβολον"
Plutarch, Vit. Cleom.—*“Exe τι 6 | βαθεῖ δὲ καὶ mpd κεραννύμενος ἤθει
Srwikds λόγος πρὸς τὰς μεγάλας καὶ | μάλιστα εἰς τὸ οἰκεῖον ἀγαθὸν ἐπιδίδωσι.

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF SENECA. 283

be added to the list—a list of martyrs at a time when all
good eminence was sure to attract the stroke. There is
something perhaps theatrical and affected about the record
of these death-scenes. When we think of Cato arguing on
the freedom of the wise man, and then reading the Phado
through the night, before he stabs himself; when we think
of Thrasea pouring out a libation of his own blood to Jupiter
the Liberator, and discoursing in his last moments with the
Cynic Demetrius on immortality—it seems as if these men
had played somewhat studied parts. Such scenes appeal to
the rhetorical faculty, rather than to the imagination and
the heart. But it is the privilege of certain unhappy periods -
to be rhetorical. It is the privilege of patriots in miserable
days to be excited, strained, unnatural. And hence we can
understand how it was that from the Girondists in France
‘the Roman Stoics obtained such sympathy and admiration.
And now let us take some notice of the character and
the thought of Seneca, a man who has been most differently
estimated, according to the temperament of his judges, and
according as he has been taken at bis best or his worst.
Probably we may admit almost all the accusations against
him, and yet end without judging him too hardly. When
just rising into success, Seneca was banished by Claudius, on
an obscure charge preferred by Messalina. From Corsica,
his place of banishment, he addressed what was called a
‘Consolation’ to Polybius, the freedman of the Emperor, on
the death of his brother. Seneca’s object in this ‘ Consolation’
was to effect his own recal, and the means he used were the
most fulsome and cringing terms of flattery towards Claudius.
His mean adulation quite failed in obtaining his pardon;
and he was only recalled after eight years’ exile, through the
influence of Agrippina, who made him tutor to her son
Domitius, the future emperor Nero.. In the museum at

284 ESSAY VI.

Naples one sees frescoes brought from Pompeii, which repre-
sent a butterfly acting as charioteer to a dragon. These
designs were meant to caricature the relationship of Seneca
to his pupil Nero. No doubt he was drawn violently and
without the power of resistance through much that was
unseemly by his impetuous charge. No doubt he tried, with
the help of Burrus, to keep the reins straight. But he was
obliged to connive and even assist at things which made
people say, with natural surprise, ‘ This is a strange part for
a Stoic to play.’ The poor painted butterfly behind the dragon
could not choose what part he should play. Other things
that have been complained of in Seneca are his violent re-
action of spite against Claudius, shown in the satire which he
wrote upon his death ; his reputed avarice, and the enormous
fortune which in a short time he actually amassed under
Nero; certain scandalous intrigues, with regard to which
there really is not evidence enough to enable us to say
whether Seneca was guilty of them or not; and lastly, his
possible complicity in the murder of Agrippina. Seneca was
no Roman, but a Spaniard, and we can fancy how the milk
of his flattery towards Claudius turned sour during his eight
years’ exile, and how deep resentment settled in his heart.
With regard to his accumulating wealth when it was in his
power to do so, we may perhaps explain it to ourselves, by
remembering that many ecclesiastics professing a still more
unworldly creed than Stoicism have done the same. With
regard to his privity to the death of Agrippina, all that can
be said is that Seneca was, towards the end of his career, so
thoroughly scared by Nero, that all power of independent
action was taken from him. Physically timid and gentle by
nature, Seneca was not born to play a consistent and unyield-
ing part. Considering his hideous position, we may well con-
done his offences. If we study his writings, and especially

THE WORKS OF SENECA. 285

his letters, we shall see that he possessed one essentially
Stoical characteristic, namely, the intense desire for advance
and improvement. The picture of the inner life of Seneca,
‘his efforts after self-discipline, his untiring asceticism, his
enthusiasm for all that he esteems holy and of good report
—this picture, marred as it is by pedantry, and rhetoric, and
vain self-conceit, yet stands out in noble contrast to the
swinishness of the Campanian villas, and is in its complex
entirety very sad and affecting.

The works of Seneca are over-harshly judged by those who
have no taste except for metaphysical philosophy, or who,
expecting to find such in Seneca, have been disappointed.
But if we approach these writings from a different side, and
look at them historically and psychologically, as the picture
of the times and the man, we find them full of interest. If
we can endure being a little cloyed with excess of richness in
the style, if we can pardon occasional falsity and frequent
exaggeration, we shall discover in them a most fertile genius,
and a vein of French wit, so to speak, which is always neat
and clever, and often surprising on the tritest moral subjects.
Of all sets of letters that have ever been preserved, there is
none that exhibits better and more vividly the different phases
of a peculiar idiosyncrasy—of a mind under the dominion
of a peculiar kind of thought—than the Epistles of Seneca.
Let us take a glance at the more striking features of their
contents, and see what sort of a working in the heart was
produced by Stoicism under the circumstances of the case.
The Epistles of Seneca consist of one hundred and twenty-
four letters, written almost continuously in the old age of
their author, and all addressed to a person of the name of
Lucilius.~ The first point to be noticed about them is their
entire abstraction from all public events of the day, an
abstraction very Stoical in itself, and very significant also of

286 ESSAY VI.

the ungenial atmosphere of the political world. Only one
allusion is there to Nero, where Seneca takes occasion (Ep.
73) to find fault with the opinion that philosophers are
necessarily turbulent and refractory, and despisers of the
ruling power. ‘On the contrary,’ he says, ‘none are more
grateful to him who affords them security and tranquillity of
life. They must regard the author of these blessings in the
light of a parent.’ ‘ Like Tityrus, they must say that a god
has provided them tranquillity, and left their cattle to roam
and themselves to play the pipe.’ ‘ The leisure thus granted
them is indeed godlike, and raises them to the level of the
gods.’ In such terms does Seneca appreciate the hours of
gilded oppression and treacherous reprieve which were con-
ceded him. Most naturally the topics of his correspondence
were not political. His letters were uniformly didactic and
moral. In them we see developed the passion for self-
improvement and for the cultivation of others. Both by
nature and from the influences of Stoicism, Seneca was
essentially a schoolmaster ; it was evidently the foible of his
life to be bringing some one on; he was a pedagogue to him-
self, and he wanted somebody else whom he might lecture. Of
this tendency Lucilius was made the victim. On one occasion —
he seems to have remonstrated, and to have reminded Seneca
that he was forty years of age, and rather old for schooling
(Ep. 25). But Seneca will not be deterred. He says it shall
not be his fault if his friend does not improve, even though
the success be not very brilliant. In every shape and from
every side he urges upon him cultivation, and once fairly
tells him he cannot remain on the footing of friend unless
he cultivates himself and improves (Hp. 35). He hails his
good deeds with triumph ; rejoices to hear that Lucilius lives
on terms of familiarity with his slaves (Zp. 47)—‘ are they
not,’ he asks, men like ourselves, breathing the same air,

THE WORKS OF SENECA. 287

living and dying like ourselves ?’—praises a book he has
written, lectures him on the economy of time (Ep. 1); tells
him to be select in his reading (Zp. 2); bids him examine
himself to see whether he is progressing in philosophy or in
life, since only the latter is valuable (Hp. 16); above all,
exhorts him without ceasing to get rid of the fear of death,
‘that chain which binds us all’ (Zp. 26), though he is half
afraid, as in one place he naively confesses (Lp. 30), that
Lucilius may come to dread his long-winded letters more
even than death itself. However, as a compensation, he pro-
mises his friend that these epistles shall ensure him a literary
immortality, just as the letters of Cicero had made the name
of Atticus immortal (Zp. 21).

Such is a specimen of the didactic element in the letters
of Seneca; the indications of his own self-discipline and
conscious self-culture are equally pregnant and still more
characteristic. One sentence of his might be taken as the
summary and expression of his entire spirit. In speaking of
the state of the ‘ advancing man’ as distinguished in Stoical
parlance from the ‘ wise man,’ he says (Hp. 71), ‘It is a great
part of advance to will to be advancing. Of this I am con-
scious to myself; I will to advance, nay, I will it with my
whole heart.’ In the will thus fixed and bent there is often
a sort of unreal triumph, independent of actual success or
failure. Seneca does not. conceal from us his failures in
realizing his conception of philosophic behaviour. But while
he confesses, he is never humbled. Rather he seems proud
of detecting his own falling off. On one occasion (Ep. 87)
he relates an excursion which he made into the country with
a friend, and in which he says they spent ‘two delightful
days. They took very few slaves, and one rustic vehicle.
On meeting with persons riding in grander equipages, he tells
us, he could not refrain from blushing, and secretly wished

288 ESSAY VI.

that they should not think that this sordid conveyance be-
longed to him. “1 have made but little progress as yet,’ he
sighs, ‘I dare not yet openly assume frugality. I mind the
opinions of passers-by.’ Whereupon he proceeds to lecture
down this weakness in the grandest terms, and occupies many
pages of a letter in proving that riches are not a good. On
another occasion he recounts a voyage which he had under-
taken from Naples to Puteoli (Zp. 53). In these few miles
the sea became rough, and the philosopher grew sick, and,
unable to endure the horrible sufferings of his position, he
commanded the pilot to set him ashore. ‘As soon as I had
recovered my stomach,’ he says, ‘I began to reflect what a
forgetfulness of our defects follows us about.’ Pursuing
this train of reasoning, he enters upon the praises of philo-
sophy, and soaring far above sea-sickness, he exclaims,
‘ Philosophy sets one above all men, and not far behind the
gods. Indeed, in one point the wise man might be said even
to surpass the Deity; for the Deity is fearless by the gift of
nature, but the wise man by his own merits.’ This last
saying, which is often quoted against Seneca, is perhaps the
most foolish thing he ever said, and must not be taken as an
average specimen of his thoughts. One failure which he —
ascribes to himself may be justly reckoned as a merit; for
while dissuading Lucilius (Hp. 63) from overmuch grieving
at the loss of a friend, he says, ‘I myself so immoderately
wept for Annzus Serenus, that I must rank among the bad
examples of those who have been overcome by grief” And
he reflects that the reason of this weakness must have been
that he had not sufficiently considered the possibility of his
friend dying first. We may also attribute it to the existence
in Seneca of an affectionate heart, which had not been entirely
supplanted by the abstractions of Stoicism, nor entirely
‘sicklied o’er by the pale cast of thought.’ After alluding

THE EPISTLES OF SENECA. 289

to cases where Seneca confessed to have fallen from the
philosophic height, it is surely fair not to leave unrecorded
an occasion where he effected an important triumph of the
will. The kind of self-discipline chosen was somewhat
surprising; it is related in the Fifty-sixth Epistle, where
Seneca tells his friend that he had taken lodgings ‘ over a
bath.’ He details with minuteness the various mixed and
deafening sounds by which his ears were perpetually assailed.
He could hear distinctly the strong fellows taking their exer-
cise—throwing out their hands loaded with the dumb-bells—
straining and groaning—hissing and wheezing—breathing in
every kind of unnatural way—at another moment some one
having his shoulders slapped by the shampooer—a hue and
ery after a thief—a man practising his voice in the bath—
people leaping and splashing down into the water—the various
cries of the piemen and sellers of baked meats, as they vended
their wares—and several other sounds, to all of which Seneca
compelled his mind to be inattentive, being concentrated on
itself. The power of abstraction gained by such a discipline
he seems to have thought very valuable. At the end of his:
letter, he declares that as the experiment is quite successful,
and as the sounds are really abominable, he has now deter-
mined to change his quarters.

About such moral peddling as this, there is of course
nothing great. But the spirit. which actuates it is in its
origin deep and good, and is only not admirable when it
becomes perverted. The conscious desire for moral progress
becomes unfortunately very easily perverted ; it degenerates
too often into small self-analysis, and that weak trifling which
is most utterly opposed to real progression. We find Seneca
remaining in his moral nature a strange mixture of the
pedant and the schoolboy; on the one hand always teaching
himself, and on the other hand with everything to learn; and

U

290 ESSAY VI.

yet still, with all its imperfections, we may question whether
this attitude is not more human and better than anything
like an Epicurean acquiescence and content in one’s nature
as it is. That self-reflection, that communing of man with
his own heart, which the tendencies of Stoicism and the
course of the world’s history had now made common, pro-
duced in Seneca occasionally intuitions into the state of the
human race, which he expresses in language curious to meet
with in the writings of a Pagan. He says (De Clementia,
1. Vi.) :—

‘Conceive in this vast city, where without cease a crowd
pours through the broadest streets, and like a river dashes
against anything that impedes its rapid course—this city,
that consumes the grain of all lands—what a solitude and
desolation there would be if nothing were left save what a
severe judge could absolve of fault! We have all sinned
(peccavimus omnes), some more gravely, others more lightly ;
some from purpose, others by chance impulse, or else carried
away by wickedness external to them; others of us have
‘wanted fortitude to stand by our resolutions, and have lost
our innocence unwillingly and not without a struggle. Not
only we have erred, but to the end of time we shall continue
to err. Even if anyone has already so well purified his
mind that nothing can shake or decoy him any more, it is
through sinning that he has arrived at this state of innocence.’

Those who have been anxious to obtain the authority of
Aristotle for the doctrine of ‘ human corruption’ will find on
consideration that this idea, which was historically impossible
for a Greek of the fourth century B.c., came with sufficient
vividness into the consciousness of persons in thé position of
Seneca, but not till much later than Aristotle, probably not
before the beginning of our era. On the other hand, we are
not to fancy that the thoughts of Seneca received any in-

ee

ΡΠ - -_—

THE EPISTLES OF SENECA. 291

fluence from Christianity. The stories of his intercourse
with St. Paul are merely mythical. We learn from passages
like that above quoted, not that Seneca had any acquaintance
with Christian doctrines, but that some of the thoughts and
feelings which St. Paul had about the world were held also
by Pagans contemporaneous with him.

There is one more characteristic of the letters of Seneca
which ought not to be left unmentioned, and that is, the way
in which they are perpetually overshadowed by the thought
of death. The form assumed by this meditatio mortis is a
constant urging of arguments against fearing to die. These
arguments are, as might be expected, infinitely varied and
ingenious. ‘ Death,’ he says, ‘lurks under the name of life.
It begins with our infancy.’ ‘It is a great mistake to look
forward to death, since a great part of it is already over. We
die daily’ (Hp. 1). ‘Death is no punishment, but the law
of nature.’ “ Children and idiots do not fear death, why can-
not reason attain to that security which folly has achieved?’
(Ep. 36). ‘Death is the one port in a stormy sea—it is
either end or transition (aut fimis est aut transitus)—it brings
us back to where we were before birth—it must be a gain or
nothing.’ ‘The apparatus of death is all a cheat; if we tear
off the mask, there is nothing fearful.’ ‘Behind fire and
steel and the ferocious crowd of executioners there is death
hiding—merely death, which my slave or my waiting-maid
has just despised’ (Hp. 24). Not content with bringing
forward these considerations dissuasive of terror, Seneca in
other places does all he can to familiarize the mind with the
idea of suicide. He says, ‘There is nothing more contempti-
ble than to wish for death. Why wish for that which is in
your power ?—die at once, if you wish to do so’ (Ep. 117).
He relates with approbation the suicide of his friend Marcel-
linus, who being oppressed with a long and troublesome

υ 2

292 ESSAY VI.

invalidism, was recommended by a Stoic to give up the trivial
round of life; whereupon, having distributed his goods among
his weeping slaves, he effected death by a three-days’ abs-
tinence from food, betaking himself to a hot bath when his
body was exhausted, wherein he fainted and died (Ep. 77).
Other instances of self-destruction are scattered through the
letters of Seneca, some of which give a sad illustration to
the unhappiness of the times. It seems to have been not
uncommon for the wretched captives who were doomed to
the conflicts of the arena to steal themselves away, some-
times by the most revolting modes of death. And it is surely
a miserable sign when cultivated men ‘of the day look on such
deeds with pleasure and admiration. So great was the ten-
dency to suicide under Claudius and Nero, that even Seneca
on one occasion acknowledges that it is excessive. He says,
‘We ought not to hate life any more than death, we ought
not to sink into that mere life-weariness to which many are
prone who see nothing before them but an unvarying routine
of waking and sleeping, hungering and eating. But the
majority of Seneca’s arguments are in the other direction.
They are the results of a deep sense of unhappiness and
insecurity, which existed side by side with his philosophic
self-complacency. They were connected, on the one hand,
with a timidity of nature and a real love of life ; on the other
hand, with a presentiment of evil and a sense of the necessity
of preparing for the worst. When death suddenly and actually
came upon Seneca,—like Cicero, he met it with fortitude, in
spite of his timidity, and probably not on account of his
previous reasonings, but from an innate elevation of mind
called out on emergency. We have observed that Seneca
spoke of death as ‘either end or transition ;’ this sums up his
views of the future under an alternative. But his real ten-
dency was to Platonic visions of the soul freed from the

EPICTETUS. 293

trammels of the body and restored to freedom.
willing that Lucilius should arouse him from the “ pleasant
dream’ of immortality. He likes to expatiate on the tran-
quillity of mind and absolute liberty which await us ‘ when
we shall have got away from these dregs of existence into
the sublime condition on high.’*®

It is a great contrast if we turn from Seneca to Epictetus.
It is going from the florid to the severe, from varied feeling

He is un-

to the impersonal simplicity of the teacher, often from idle
rhetoric to devout earnestness. No writings of Epictetus
remain, but only (what is perhaps equally interesting for us)
records of his didactic conversations, preserved as near as pos-
sible in his own words by Arrian, the historian, who studied
under him at Nicopolis. Epictetus was a lame slave, the pro-
perty of Epaphroditus, who was himself the freedman and the

favourite of Nero. While yet a slave, Epictetus was won over

to the Stoic doctrine by Musonius Rufus.*”

Obtaining his

56 We have not entered upon the
analysis of Seneca’s philosophical
works, because, in short, they are not
speculative and philosophical, but of
the same moralizing stamp as his
letters. It is, however, just to pay a
tribute to the force of imagination
shown by him in preconceiving the
physical discoveries of future ages (see
his Naturales Questiones, Vu. xxxi.).
‘Quam multa animalia hoc primum
eognovimus seculo! quam multa neg-
otia ne hoc quidem! Multa venientis
zvi populus ignota nobis sciet. Multa
seeculis tunc futuris, cum memoria nos-
tri exoleverit, reservantur. Through
his vividness of mind, this Spaniard of
the first century has got the credit of
predicting elsewhere, in terms re-
markably coincident, the discovery of
America.

57 Musonius Rufus, whom we have
noticed before as the companion of
Rubellius Plautus in Asia, ‘ returned
from exile on the accession of Galba;
and when Antonius Primus, the gene-
ral of Vespasian, was marching upon
Rome, he joined the ambassadors that
were sent by Vitellius to the victorious
general, and going among the soldiers
of the latter, descanted upon the bless-
ings of peace and the dangers of war,
but was soon compelled to put an
end to his unseasonable eloquence.’
(Smith’s Dict. of Greek and Roman
Biog.) He afterwards obtained the
condemnation of Publius Celer, the
traducer of Barea. (Tac. Hist. iii. 81;
iv. 10, 40.) Fragments of his philo-
sophy are preserved by Stobzeus.

294 ESSAY VI.

freedom, he taught in Rome, and afterwards, when the philo-
sophers were banished from the city by Domitian, in Nicopolis
of Epirus. What is most striking about his discourses is their
extremely religious spirit, and the gentle purity of the doc-
trines they advocate. In them Stoicism reached its culmina-
tion, and attained an almost entirely un-pagan character; its
harsher traits were abandoned, and while Epictetus draws the
picture of the wise man under the name of Cynic, there is
hardly a trace of anything cynical in the life which he recom-
mends. To mention the subjects of some of his discourses may
serve to give an idea of their nature. The following headings
strike the eye:—‘ On things in our power and not in our
power.’ ‘ How to preserve one’s own character in everything.’
‘ How to follow out the conception that God is Father of
mankind.’ ‘On moral advance.’ ‘On Providence.’ ‘On
equanimity.’ ‘How to do all things pleasing to the Gods.’
‘What part of a sin is one’s own.’ ‘On moral training.’ As
might be conjectured, there is nothing speculative in these
discourses. Epictetus both received and imparted philosophy
as a fulfilling of the needs of the soul, not as a mere develop-
ment of the intellect. His words on this and other subjects
present very often a strange coincidence with the language
of the Gospel. He says (Dvssert. τι. xi. 1), ‘The beginning
of philosophy is the consciousness of one’s own weakness and
inability with regard to what is needful.’ ‘The school of the
philosopher is a physician’s house; you should not go out
from it pleased, but in pain. For you come not whole, but
sick—one diseased in his shoulder and another in his head’
(Dissert. 1. xxiii. 30). ‘Young man, having once heard
these words, go away, and say to yourself, ‘ Epictetus has not
spoken them to me (from whence came they to him?), but
some kind god by his means. It would not have come into
the mind of Epictetus to say these things, since he is not

EPICTETUS, 295

accustomed to reason with anyone. Come, then, let us obey
God, lest we should move God to anger.’’°* ‘The true Cynic
should recollect that he is sent as a messenger from Zeus to
men, to declare to them concerning things good and evil, and
to show them that they seek good where it is not to be found,
and where it is to be found they do not desire it’ (Dissert.
III. xxii. 23).

With regard to the manifestations of Providence, Epictetus
says (Dissert. i. 16, 19) :—‘ What, then; since yeare all blind,
is there not need of one who should fill up this place, and sing
in behalf of you all the hymn to God? Of what else am I
capable, who am a lame old man, except to sing the praises
of God? Were I a nightingale, I would do as the nightin-
gale; were I a swan, I would do as the swan. But now, since
I have reason, I must sing of God. This is my office, and I
perform it, nor will I leave my post, as far as in me lies, and
I exhort you to join in the same song. ‘If anyone will
properly feel this truth, that we are all especially born of
God, and that God is the father of men and gods, I think
that such an one will henceforth allow no mean or unworthy
thoughts about himself. If Cesar were to adopt you, would
not your pride be unbearable; and now that you are the son
of Zeus, will you not be elated?’ (Dissert. i. 3, 1).

Such sayings as these are a specimen of the vein of piety
which runs through the teachings of Epictetus. In moral
life, he exhorts to purity, equanimity, and forgiveness of in-
juries. He draws a broad line of distinction between things
in our power and things out of our power. Within our power
are the will and our opinion of things; beyond our power, the
body, possessions, authority, and fame. The will itself no-
thing can touch ; bonds, imprisonment, and death itself, do

58. ἵγαᾳ μὴ θεοχόλωτοι ὦμεν (Dissert, ur. i. 36).

296 ESSAY VI.

not impair the internal freedom of the will. Lameness im-
pedes the leg, but not the will. True wisdom and happiness
consist in placing all one’s thoughts and hopes on things
within our power,—that is to say, on the will itself and the
internal consciousness. This attitude will render happiness
impregnable, for the wise man will enter no contest save where
he is sure of the victory.

In an exaltation of the will, and in thus withdrawing into
its precincts, the Stoicism of Epictetus declares itself. To
some extent he provided an objective side for his thought, by
the pious and theological reflections which he introduced into
his philosophy. But these were not sufficiently made to per-
vade his whole system, and with regard to the question of
immortality he contented himself, as far as we know, with
certain brief remarks, implying the utter resolution of per-
sonality. after death. ‘Come,’ he says, ‘ but whither ?—to
nothing dreadful, but only to what is near and dear to thee, to
the elements whence thou hast sprung’ (Diss. m1. xiii. 14).
‘This is death, a mighty change, not into the non-existent,
but into what is now non-existent. “ Shall J then not exist?’
No, thou wilt not exist, but something else of which the
universe has need’ (Diss. 111. xxiv. 94). While placing the
will in our own power, Epictetus at the same time adopted
an entirely necessarian scheme. He followed Plato in making
vice the result of ignorance, and he considered that men dif-
fered from brutes, not in freedom, but only in consciousness
(Diss. τι. viii. 4). se

The same spirit as that of Epictetus the slave expresses
itself in Marcus Aurelius the emperor, whose thoughts have
come down to us in the shape of a monologue in twelve books.
These two last great Stoical writers appear both to have been
influenced by Neo-Platonic views, for which Stoicism, on its
spiritual side, had a considerable affinity. The weakness of
humanity is a leading idea with M. Aurelius.

MARCUS AURELIUS. 297

‘Of human life,’ he says (ii. 17), ‘the duration is a point ;
the substance is fleeting; the perception is dim; the fabric
of the body is corruptible, the soul is an idle whirling; for-
tune is inscrutable, and fame beyond our judgment. In short,
all that there is of the body is a stream, and all that there is
of the soul is a dream and a smoke. Life is a war, and a
lodging in a strange countr'y ; the name that we leave behind
us is forgetfulness. What is there, then, that can conduct
us? Philosophy alone. ...Oh, my soul! wilt thou ever be
good, and simple, and one, and naked, and more transparent
than the body which clothes thee? Wilt thou ever be full
and without a want, desiring nothing, hankering after no-
thing, whether animate or inanimate, for the enjoyment of.
pleasure, but content with thy present condition?’ (x. 1.)

Such are the mystical ecstasies into which Antoninus rises
in communing with himself. With these, honest self-examina-
. tions and humility of feeling are often combined, and the
whole is tempered by a cold spirit of Stoica] resignation. Of
the philosophy of the Emperor we need not add anything
further beyond one slight point, namely, that we find in
him® the same psychological division of man into body, soul,
and spirit, as was employed by St. Paul. The mode of ex-
pression, however, is slightly different, showing that there
was no direct borrowing, but only a general community of
view. We may take our leave of the monologue of Antoninus
by quoting from it his feeling about the Christian martyrs.
‘The soul, he says, ‘when it must depart from the body,
should be ready to be extinguished, to be dispersed, or to

89 “Ὁ ci more τοῦτό εἶμι σαρκία ἐστὶ | Paul, Thessal. τ. v. 23. Τὸ πνεῦμα
καὶ πνευμάτιον καὶ τὸ ἡγεμονικόν (ii. 2). | καὶ ἡ ψυχὴ καὶ τὸ σῶμα. The πνεῦμα
Cf. iii. 16. Σῶμα, ψυχή, νοῦς xii. | of St. Paul answers to the νοῦς or
4. Tpla ἐστὶν ἐξ ὧν συνέστηκας, ἡγεμονικόν of Antoninus.
σωμάτιον, πνευμάτιον, νοῦς. Cf. St.

298 ESSAY VI.

subsist a while longer with the body. But this readiness must
proceed from its own judgment, and not from mere obstinacy,
as with the Christians; it must be arrived at with reflection
and dignity, so that you could even convince another without
declamation’ (xi. 3).

In Marcus Aurelius we appear at first sight to have the
desire of Plato fulfilled. We see a philosopher on the throne.
But even absolute power does not give influence or sway.
Plato wished the whole State to bend and turn under the con-
trol of omnipotent wisdom, as the limbs of a man would
follow the impulses of his mind. But very far was Marcus
Aurelius from being gifted with that sort of electric force
which could put itself out and transform the world, even if the
Roman empire were not too huge and too corrupt for such a
process. Philosophy in general must be considered as some-
thing incapable of coming immediately into contact with
politics and practical life, and the philosophy of Antoninus
consisted peculiarly in a withdrawal from the world, in self-
examination, moral progress, and thoughts about God. While
the Emperor was thus busied more with his own soul than
with penetrating State reforms, the world enjoyed a haleyon
time. The ruler was mild, just, and forgiving; he had only
one deficiency, but that the greatest which could possibly
attach to him, namely, an utter want of insight into charac-
ter. The sole exception to his clemency was that excited
probably by the narrow malignance of his fellow Stoics—he
condescended to persecute the Christians. The adoration of
the people showed how much the gentleness of Marcus
Aurelius was appreciated,—but it is not the mild monarchs
who leave permanent blessings to their country. Among his
most public tastes seems to have been a fondness for juris-
prudence; he produced several volumes of Constitutions.
This province of industry was the one most attractive of the

STOICISM AND ROMAN LAW. 299

day. In the absence of literature, Roman jurisprudence is
the one great and lasting product of the age of the Antonines.
And now a word must be said upon an often mooted and
never thoroughly discussed subject —the influence of the
Stoic philosophy upon Roman law. Acquaintance with
Grecian philosophy in general began at Rome contempo-
raneously with a change in the laws. The first epoch of
Roman law was an epoch of rigid forms, and a narrow but
coherent system, exclusively adapted to Roman citizens. Com-
merce and conquest made it necessary that law should widen
so as to embrace the inhabitants of the Italian States. Hence
the growth of the pretor’s adjudicating power. By degrees
the decisions of the pretors in regard to the hitherto over-
exclusive laws of property, and the rights of persons born out °
of the Roman city, grew up into a body of equity by the side
of the civil law. This body of equity, which was framed on
the principles of natural reason, of course reflected the highest
general enlightenment and the most cultivated ideas of the
jurisconsults of the day. We have already seen that during
the first and second centuries B.c. the most eminent Romans
attached themselves to the direct study of Greek philosophy.
To the list of the disciples of the Stoics we may add some
names more immediately connected with jurisprudence. Q.
' Mutius Sceevola (as well as Ὁ. Alius Tubero) appears to have
been among the hearers of Panetius. C. Aquilius Gallus and
Lucilius Balbus, distinguished jurisconsults of the time of
Cicero, studied again under Scevola; and Balbus, who in
Cicero’s De Naturd Deorum is made the expositor of the
Stoical view, was teacher of Servius Sulpicius. Equity at-
tained in the eyes of such persons an immense preference
over the civil law. To this tendency of opinions Cicero gave
a great stimulus, maintaining, as he did always, that justice
must be based on humanity and reason, and ‘ that the source

300 ESSAY VI.

and rule of right were not to be sought in the laws of the
Twelve Tables, but in the depths of the human intelligence.’
Now, if we wish to form an idea to ourselves of the sort of
way in which philosophy at Rome influenced jurisprudence,
we may think of the philosophy of Cicero, that is, a philo-
sophy not exclusively Stoical, but eclectic, practical, and
human. Even the philosophers of the Stoic school them-
selves were by this time, as we have seen, all eclectic. Much
more, then, would the lawyers avoid any rigid adherence to
one set of formule; they would be sure to accept a certain
mixture and modification of views. A number of humane
and enlightened principles were now diffused, and it is per-
haps true that the most noble of these ideas were due to
Stoicism—as, for instance, the cosmopolitan thought, that
the world is our State, and that mankind are of one race,
being all the children of God. But it is true also that the
general course of history had tended to foster and develope
this and other ideas which Stoicism forcibly enunciated. -
In the growth, then, of the Roman ‘Jus Gentium, and in
the amelioration and softening of many austere legal usages
(as, for instance, the absolute authority of fathers over their
children), we see not simply and solely the influence of
Stoicism, but of a generally enlightened practical philo-
sophy, in which Stoicism was not more than an important
element. But besides the material alterations which oc-
curred in the spirit of the Roman laws, besides the era
of the Jus Pratorium, we must look in another direction—
to the era of ‘ codification,’ if we wish to trace philosophical
influences. An eminent authority maintains that ‘the Stoical
philosophy was to Roman jurisprudence what Benthamism

has been to English law’-—namely, a directing influence

6 Mr. Merivale’s History of the Romans under the Empire, vol. ii. p. 528.

ἱ
μὰ...

STOICISM AND ROMAN LAW. 301

that came into play in the absence of any absolutely deter-
mining causes. These two principles of action might be said
to be diametrically opposite to each other ; for Benthamism,
which looks to utility, commences with the concrete; while
it is the essence of Stoicism to take an abstract point of
view. The political writings of Zeno and Chrysippus are
lost, and we know not the details of the ‘ universal state’ as
conceived by the former, but we may be sure that if Stoicism
had had the framing of the laws for the Roman empire
entrusted to its hands, there would have been a logical
deduction from the principle ef the natural freedom and
equality of the whole human race. But what do we find ?
That slavery, even under Justinian, was mitigated, and not
abolished ; that men of different ranks were not equal in the ©
sight of the law; that the civil incapacity of women (which
Zeno had denied) still remained; that the application of
cruel punishments, and even of torture, were treated by the
new codes in a way which showed more a respect for existing
usage and for the old statutes than a disposition to legislate
synthetically from philosophical principles. ‘Gaius, Ulpian,
Papinian, and Paulus, appear very timid by the side of
Seneca and Epictetus.’®! Perhaps this belongs of necessity
to the progress of jurisprudence, that it must not break too
hastily with the past; but we are obliged, if this view be
correct, to confine the influence of Stoicism on Roman law
to the introduction of an idea of form, to the endeavour to
bring the actual under the scope of certain abstract formule.
We must not expect to find the logical and systematic
development of these formulz, but rather we must recognise
a frequent antithesis between abstract principles and the

οἱ M. Denis, Histoire des Théories et des Idées Morales dans UAntiquité,
vol. ii. p.215. Paris, 1856.

302 ESSAY VI.

details where one might have expected them to be applied.
And yet again it appears, if we look a little further, that
the philosophical ideas to which the Jurists appealed, though
not immediately triumphant over all other considerations in
the Roman Code, did yet in some cases come into direct
application; and what is of far more importance, that these
principles, being enunciated with reverence, were held up for
the admiration of posterity, and so came to exert an in-
fluence on the whole bearing of subsequent jurisprudence.
When we read in the Digest the stately preamble concerning
the Jus Naturale—which nature has taught all animals, and
which is prior even to the Jus Gentium prevailing among
the human race—we are apt to be most struck with the
abstract and, we might almost say, futile appearance of such
a principle, followed out afterwards with so little consistency.
But the idea of the ‘ Law of Nature,’ enunciated here and
elsewhere in the Roman Code, being taken up by Grotius
and the Continental Jurists, became a leading idea of juris-
prudence, the characteristic principle of a particular school,
and the antithesis of Benthamism. What is the meaning of
this conception, the ‘Law of Nature,’ and whether it has
any reality or value as separate from, or opposed to, utility
and experience, is a matter of keen debate amongst philoso-
phical Jurists. It is not the province of the present Essay
to enter upon this question. That which is our concern we
may dismiss with only two remarks of recapitulation :—First,
the idea of the Law of Nature, as introduced into the Roman
law, was not by any means purely Stoical, but was the result
of the general growth of ideas in the first century B.c., and
was vividly apprehended by the eclectic and practical Cicero ;
second, this idea, though subsequently so influential, was not
by any means uniformly applied in the details of the Corpus

Juris.

DEBT OF MODERN TIMES TO THE STOICS. 303

Whatever fragments of Stoicism were preserved in the
Roman law descended, no doubt, as a contribution not only
to modern law, but also to modern morals. In other channels
the direct connexion of our own thoughts with the ancient
Stoics is hard to trace, because, long before modern thought
began a separate existence, Stoicism had sunk into the world,
and had influenced the ideas of men far beyond its own im-
mediate school. But in acknowledging the influence of
ancient civilization at all, in acknowledging the impress of
Cicero and Tacitus, and even of the Fathers of the Church,
we acknowledge to an appreciable extent a debt to Stoicism.
This, while arising in a form of a Greek philosophy, was at
the same time a reaction against the Grecian and the philo-
sophical spirit. Hence its affinity to modern feelings. We
have seen how it held up the delights of an inner life as
preferable to all tangible and palpable enjoyments, however
innocent they might be; we have seen how it drew the mind
away from external realities into an abstract ideal; how
it delighted in the conception of moral progress and the
triumph of the will; how it developed the thought of duty
and the responsibility of the individual; how, deserting the
restrictions of national politics, it raised itself to conceive of
all mankind as one brotherhood, each member standing in
direct relation to God; finally, we have seen how, following
its natural tendencies, Stoicism became more and more
exclusively theological in its views. To some extent, then,
this doctrine supplied the needs of the human soul and
the want of a spiritual religion. Running parallel with
Christianity, and quite uninfluenced by it, it yet exhibited
the development of pure, gentle, and unworldly thoughts in
the mind. It showed us how high it was possible for the
Pagans to reach. At the same time it bore upon its face its
own imperfection, its onesidedness, and its unnatural and
paradoxical character.

304 ESSAY VI.

While Stoicism passed away, the Stoical spirit has con-
tinued, and still continues to reproduce itself in the world.
This spirit, in its extremest form, animates the various
religious ascetics — Fakirs, Trappists, and the like. The
Society of Jesus, like the school of the Stoics, was founded
by men the intensity of whose moral will was more pro-
minent than the fineness of their intellect. The parallel
presented by Calvinism in its external gloom and its high
necessarianism to the Stoical system has been already hinted
at, and might be followed out at length. The Puritans stood
to the Cavaliers much as the Stoics to the Epicureans. We
might say that, changing sides, the same spirit manifested
itself in the recurring austerities of the High-Church party,
only here the attention to ceremonial showed a susceptibility
to what is external alien from the Stoical tendency. Stoicism
is essentially abstract ; hence it is ungenial to the imagina-
tion and unfavourable to poetry. While the Epicurean school
could boast of Lucretius as their poet, the ancient Stoics had
only the crabbed satires of Persius and the rhetorical verses
of Lucan to set against him. In modern times two great
works of the imagination have been claimed for the Stoical
side, that is, for the Puritans; namely, Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s
Progress, and Milton’s Paradise Lost. These works coming
from such a source must be said to be exceptional; though
in the last resort no form of our religion is to be treated
as if absolutely like Stoicism, or absolutely wanting in the
objective element. However, in each of the works in ques-
tion, traces of the spirit to which we refer can be readily
traced: in Bunyan the basis of the whole conception is
abstract, it is a detailed picture or history of an inner life;
in Milton, also, the imaginativeness is sublime, but cold
and unearthly, and the inspiration is drawn rather from
a rich learning than from vivid impressions of external

MERITS AND- DEFECTS OF STOICISM. 305

life. Stoicism, while deficient in that sensuous impressive-
ness which is necessary for poetry, is, on the other hand,
extremely suitable for rhetoric, for splendid didactic preach-
ing, for patriotic invocations, for historical tableaux. To
this cause we may attribute the partiality manifested by the
French, that nation with such perfect rhetoric and so little
poetry, for the ancient Stoics and all belonging to them. In
fact, the works of Seneca read like a fine French sermon, and
Cato and Thrasea were a model to the Girondists. On quite
other grounds we may say that there is a Stoical tinge also
in the English character. It might be enough to allege
that Puritanism is English; but independently of religious
feeling, the tendency ‘to shun delights and live laborious
days, to sacrifice life to an idea of success, this is Stoical
because it is abstract. Of the spirit of Stoicism we may now
take our leave, having seen in its various manifestations
what itis. Existing by itself it is narrow and harsh, it has
too great an affinity to pride and egotism, it is too repressive
_ of the spontaneous feelings, of art, and poetry, and geniality
of life. On the other hand, it is the stimulus to live above
the world. Hence while the bare Stoical spirit, in whatever
form, produces only an imperfect and repulsive character, a
certain leaven of it, to say the least, is necessary; else would
a man be wanting in all effort and aspiration of mind,

ESSAY VII.

——$j

On the Relation of Aristotle’s Ethics to Modern
Systems.

O trace fully the historical relations of Aristotle’s Ethics
forwards as well as backwards would imply first an exami-
nation of the Stoical system to see how in it the Ethical idea
was developed. Then we should require to consider broadly
the action of Christianity upon the philosophic thought of the
world; to trace in the Alexandrian schools the mingling of
various elements, and to ask what in the thought of these
schools was lasting and germinant, and what was only tem-
porary and isolated. We should have to observe the condition
of philosophy within the pale of the Church itself, to notice
the awakening of the question of free-will in connection with
the heresy of Pelagius; to see how Aristotle, at first excom-
municated and kept aloof by the Church, was afterwards re-
ceived for the sake of his method, and then almost incor-
porated with Christianity; to see how, when he was now
taken up, his point of view had been lost, and how, accord-
ingly, Aristotle’s words were used to set forth the point of
view of the schoolmen; how his logical, metaphysical, and
ethical formulz became stamped upon the language of the
world; how at the revival of learning there was a reaction
against the garbled Aristotelian philosophy of the schoolmen,
which indiscriminately fell upon Aristotle himself; how in
Bacon and Descartes modern philosophy took a fresh start
with two divergent but highly fruitful and important ten-
dencies ; how Ethics also began anew quite independently of

MODERN ETHICAL SYSTEMS. 307

ancient philosophy, with a fresh problem and a deeper eye.
We should find Ethics now predominated over by two per-
vading and all-important conceptions, the product of ten
centuries of theology,—namely, the will of God, and the
will of man. We should see how the first speculative Ethics
of modern times, in the persons of Spinoza and Leibnitz,
essayed to fix the relation to each other of these two con-
ceptions by the attainment of some higher conception in
which they might both be solved; how the freedom of the
will was pertinaciously, but less philosophically, re-asserted
by Cudworth; how in the eighteenth century a smaller
question was mooted, one, however, that was quite distinct
from the ancient Ethical point of view,—namely, the ground
of action, whether selfishness or utility, or an internal so-
called authoritative principle—conscience or the moral sense;
how this was variously argued, not on a metaphysical but
a psychological basis, by Hobbes, Cudworth, Shaftesbury,
Hutcheson, Butler, Mandeville, Adam Smith, Hume, and
Paley; how Kant taking up the question endeavoured to
throw aside, as unworthy, all external motives and induce-
ments to right action, and to reduce all to the idea of duty,
existing as an ἃ priori law of the will.

It is obvious that to fill up the outline which we have here
merely indicated would require, not an Essay, but a Volume.
At the same time it would be writing the history, not of
Aristotle’s Ethics, but of modern moral philosophy. All we
need at present is to make it felt, that between the point from
which Aristotle started in writing his Hithics, and that from
which any thinker of the present day or of the last two cen-
turies would commence,—a great interval is set, an interval,
too, full of powerful influences, during which the whole spirit
of the world has been changed. The influence of Aristotle
himself is no doubt one of those that has worked upon the

x2

308 ESSAY VII.

history of our thought, but only as one influence among many.
It would then be an utter ignoring of facts and of the growth
of the human mind if we were to try to read Aristotle’s book
merely as if it were a modern treatise, or to set him side by
side with some modern writer and to ask, Does Aristotle
agree with Bishop Butler (for instance) on this or that
question, without having first recognized the essential differ-
ence in their points of view.

Perhaps the simplest way to set this difference in its
strongest light will be to take some modern system, and place
an outline of its contents in comparison and in contrast with
Aristotle. Let us take, for instance, Dugald Stewart’s Philo-
sophy of the Active and Moral Powers of Man, as being not
deeply speculative and original, but at the same time able,
clear, and learned, and therefore representing fairly the
general run of modern Ethical science. Dugald Stewart, at
the commencement of this work, proposes to begin with an
analysis of the ‘ active propensities’ of men, ‘on account of
the intimate relation which this analysis bears to the theory
of morals, and its practical connection with our opinions on
the duties and the happiness of human life. Indeed,’ says
Dugald Stewart, ‘it is in this way alone that the light of
nature enables us to form any reasonable conclusions con-
cerning the ends and destination of our being, and the pur-
poses for which we were sent into the world: Quid sumus et
quidnam victuri gugnimur. It forms, therefore, a necessary
introduction to the science of Ethics, or rather is the founda-
tion on which that science rests.’

This passage set forth its writer’s view of the method of
Ethics, also of their matter or contents. The method, then,
of Ethics, according to Dugald Stewart, is entirely psycho-
logical ; our only source of knowledge consists in an analysis
of ‘the active propensities’ of the human mind. This is

MODERN ETHICAL SYSTEMS. 309

very different from the procedure of Aristotle, who establishes
his leading principle for Ethics, his conception of the prac-
tical chief good, long before he commences any psychological
divisions. It is true, indeed, that Aristotle gave the first im-
pulse to psychology, but it was all wavering and tentative
with him, and never harmonized into a completed system. In
one place you have the division of the ψυχή into rational,
irrational, and semi-rational (μετέχον λόγου) ; at another
place a division into δύναμις, rdOos, ἕξις ; then a psychology
of the will with the distinctions of βούλησις, Bovrevors, and
mpoaipecis; then a psychology of the intellect, and the
divisions of art, science, wisdom, reason, and philosophy.
These different analyses of the mind stand apart from one
another. It would be, then, totally at variance with Ari-
stotle’s point of view to found Ethics upon a classification of
the ‘propensities’ in the mind of an individual. He does
not take this subjective view; he rather says ‘the end for the
state and the individual are the same.’ '

The object of this psychological analysis is, according to
Dugald Stewart, that we may ‘form reasonable conclusions
concerning the ends and destination of our being, and the
purposes for which we were sent into the world.’ In speaking
of the ‘ends of our being,’ it is observable that he makes use
of an Aristotelian formula, and we might accordingly suppose
that the problem of Ethics was the same with him as with
Aristotle, namely, What is the final cause of action? But by
the addition he makes of ‘the purposes for which we were sent
into the world,’ he shows what a different thing with him
‘the ends. and destination of our being’ is from the τέλος of
Aristotle. It is obvious that in Dugald Stewart the concep-
tion is a religious, rather than a philosophical one. He means
that psychology should point out to us the designs of God, in
order that when we know them we may be able to fulfil them,

310 ESSAY VII.

The end, according to him, is something existing rather for
the mind of God than for the mind of man. It conveys here
no sense of the absolute, of that which is in and for itself
desirable, of the chief good, of the sum of all means. What-
ever the conception has gained in earnestness owing to its re-
ligious application, it has lost in philosophic depth. From the
addition also of the word ‘ destination,’ it would almost seem
as if Dugald Stewart went off altogether from the Aristotelian
sense of the term ‘end’ into another association—that of
ultimate issue or termination. This view would place the
Ethical ‘end’ entirely outside of the present life, and it would
make the problem for Ethics to consist in asking what is to
be our lot in the life to come. It is not to be asserted that
Dugald Stewart would clearly and definitely have thus iden-
tified Ethics with religion. What is to be remarked rather is
the indefiniteness of his view, and the way in which uncon-
sciously he suffers it to be mixed up with theology.

In following out the method he has proposed himself,
Dugald Stewart classifies the ‘ Active Principles’ of man as
follows:—1. Appetites; 2. Desires; 3. Affections; 4. Self-
love; 5. The Moral Faculty. The three first he calls “ In-
stinctive or Implanted Propensities ;’ the two last “ Rational
and Governing Principles of Action.’ After enumerating
the appetites, he proceeds to classify the desires, and it may
surprise us to find that he gives the following list of original
and elementary desires. The desire of knowledge—of society
—of esteem—of power—of superiority. He subdivides the
affections into love of kindred—friendship—patriotism—pity
to the distressed, and resentment, ‘ with various other angry
affections ‘grafted upon it.’ In these lists it is easy to see
that no very profound point of view is taken. The writer
seems to content himself with an empirical and superficial
arrangement. It could scarcely be shown that there is an

MODERN ETHICAL SYSTEMS. 311

absolute and primary distinction between the desire of
society on the one hand, and love of kindred, friendship,
and patriotism on the other. The account, then, of these
different propensities is not to be looked at as in the least
philosophical, it is only as a sort of psychological diver-
sion. The real point of importance in the whole discussion
is not the nature or number of these subordinate, or, as
Dugald Stewart calls them, ‘ instinctive,’ propensities,—but to
show that how many and whatsoever they be, they are under
the control of ‘the two rational and governing principles,’
self-love and the moral faculty. The writer shows that self-
love, or a prudential regard to our own happiness, is not
inconsistent with virtue. He establishes more by quotation
than argument the existence of a supreme moral faculty, and
bases moral obligation to do right upon the authority of this
faculty.

We have taken this outline of moral science from Dugald
Stewart, because it is by him stated dogmatically, and with
the utmost clearness,—as far as clearness is possible in a
theory where the conceptions are arbitrarily, rather than,
naturally, distinguished from each other. But every one will
recognize in it a reproduction of Bishop Butler’s system.
Only certain details are more worked out; there is a more
broad, though an arbitrary, separation between self-love and
the moral faculty than Bishop Butler had made; and instead
of the laborious course of a close argument we have a fore-
gone conclusion. Butler, indeed, may be regarded as the
parent of a certain family of modern moral systems. Let us
briefly advert to some points which suggest themselves, on a
comparison of the bearing of these systems with the Ethics of
Aristotle.

We have already pointed out the psychological method of
modern Ethics, as constituting a difference from the procedure

312 ESSAY VII.

of Aristotle. The causes of this difference lie very deep. If
the thought of Plato and Aristotle was ‘ conscious, as com-
pared with that of the Seven Sages, the thought of modern
times might be called ‘self-conscious,’ as compared with
theirs. In morals, we find Aristotle dealing profoundly with
those conceptions that form the object of moral action, the
good or happiness, and the beautiful or virtue. But with
regard to the subjective side of these conceptions—the moral
subject—the relation of the ‘ me,’ of the will and conscious-
ness of the individual, to the good in life and action,—his
theory seems not equally complete. Now, it is this subjective
side of morals which, in modern times, has assumed a para-
mount importance. Duty, right, moral obligation—all these
conceptions imply bringing home an act to the innermost
consciousness. They are all dependent on the relation of the
moral subject to the outer world. In modern systems, man
is no longer depicted as capable of realizing the absolute, the
supreme End-in-itself, by means of noble actions and moments
of philosophic thought. The spirit of the world seems deeper
and sadder, and the good and the joy of life are no longer its
predominant conceptions. Individual will, and therefore
individual responsibility, are now the first thoughts of Ethics.
It is no more a question of happiness, or, as with Aristotle,
what is the chief good? but, rather, what constitutes duty?
why is anything right, and why are we obliged to do the
right ?

It is true that we find scattered through the Ethics of
Aristotle applications of the formula τὸ δέον, ὡς δεῖ, Ke.
Perhaps the most striking use of this term occurs Hth. 11.
i. 24, where it is argued that all desires cannot be involuntary,
because there are some things one ought to desire (ἄτοπον δὲ
ἴσως τὸ ἀκούσια φάναι ὧν δεῖ ὀρέγεσθαι). This implies the
connection between duty or responsibility and the freedom of

— "Py

MODERN ETHICAL SYSTEMS. 313

the will. But the conception contained in this argument is
not developed by Aristotle, as it might have been, systemati-
cally. It is a human instinct to say, ‘ We ought (δεῖ) to do
some things ;’ but all that is contained in this word, ‘ ought,’
had not been made explicit in the time of Aristotle, and
certainly it was as yet by no means a leading conception.
The foundation of the Ethical notion of duty is partly owing
to the Stoics; but, undoubtedly, the whole idea of moral
obligation and individual responsibility, which goes to make
up its full significance, has taken hold of the thought of man-
kind through, and by reason of, the long influence of religion
and theology. This deep conception is now an heir-loom of
moral philosophers, they cannot get rid of it, any more than
a man can return to the unconsciousness of a child. The
inheritance, then, of this conception forms the first great
difference between modern Ethical philosophers and Aristotle.
However comparatively feeble may be the individual thought
of any modern thinker, there is yet a sort of background to
his system provided by the spirit of the age; a conception
which he cannot help availing himself of, which, through no
merit of his own, is on the whole deeper than anything which
Aristotle had attained to. In modern times the system, or
parts of the system, are often far greater than the individual
thinker.

The question of Ethics which has most exercised and
divided the moderns is one that in Aristotle’s day had never
been mooted, namely, Why are we obliged to do any particular
right action instead of its contrary? The answers to this
question are virtually only two. The assignable reasons
reduce themselves, in short, to (1) utility, (2) duty. Against
those who assigned utility as the ground of moral obligation,
it was urged, that the idea of utility could never give rise to
the idea of obligation. To this Paley replied that you must

314 ESSAY VII.

take into your calculation of utility some account of the
consequences in another world, that is to say, of the rewards
and punishments appointed by God. This fuller notion of
utility, he argued, would completely explain all that was
meant by obligation. In Bishop Butler’s sermons a wavering
account seems to be given. The inducements to right action
are partly eudeemonistic—it being urged that virtue is for our
interest even in this life, and how much more for our interest
in case there be rewards and punishments hereafter—partly
they appeal to the authority of conscience. Only, what is the
exact nature of conscience; how it pronounces; whether it
be infallible; what is its relation to the will and the reason ;
and many other difficulties that might be started, Bishop
Butler leaves unexplained.

In these specimens of eighteenth-century Ethics we may
see how little a philosophical point of view was maintained or
even aimed at. Why should not Paley have taken his stand
on the inherent desire for the good, inalienable from every
creature, and which obliges it to pursue the course most con-
ducive to the good? Why should not Butler, if he per-
ceived so strongly the existence in us of this authoritative
principle taking cognizance of the right, have been content
to develope its nature, and to base all inducement to action
upon obedience to its mandates? Even though Aristotle
himself was occasionally prone to empiricism, and to falling
away from the highest point of view, yet we feel that in his
principle of the chief good and of the end there is something
philosophical which we utterly miss in the views above
mentioned. If Aristotle could possibly ever have had the
question of moral obligation put before him, we can fancy
how much more great and penetrating would have been the
answer given. Turning from these English divines,. who
were most excellent writers but not profound philosophers,

KANT’S ETHICS. 315

to the German thinker, Kant, we find in him no lack of
endeavour to maintain a philosophical point of view. He at
once discards all external inducements to action, reduces
virtue to a state of the will, and the law of action to an
ἃ priori mandate of the will itself. It is true, that in carry-
ing out this system, Kant is led into certain inconsistencies.
He is unable to give his & priori law of duty any content,
without going to experience, and asking what will be the
effect if such and such a course of action were to become
universal? He seems also to think that the idea of a future
life is necessary to supplement the morality of this present
world, a view which is a little inconsistent with his former
discarding of all notions of happiness, or of external reward
for virtue. In spite of its defects and irregularities, Kant’s
Metaphysics of Ethics is a fine book, in which a noble and
stern conception of duty is upheld, and in which there is an
attempt at least to obtain a central point of view, and to give
expression to some one deep principle of man’s moral nature.

As compared with Aristotle, Kant’s characteristics are
prominent. They consist in an intensifying to the utmost of
the great modern ethical conception, the individual will.
Kant says, ‘The only good thing in the world is a good will.’
We saw before (pp. 174 and 208) that he found fault with
Aristotle for basing Ethics on eudzemonism, and for assigning
a merely quantitative difference between virtue and vice.
But we also saw there was a certain degree of misunder-
standing in these criticisms upon Aristotle. When we look
narrowly into it, we find that Aristotle asserts the only good
to be ‘an act of the consciousness duly harmonized ;’ and
that if ideally he requires this to be prolonged through a
life, and assisted by external good fortune, he practically
speaks (Hth. τ. x. 12 ; U1. ix. 4) of the triumph of the internal
consciousness over adverse external circumstances. Kant,

316 ESSAY VII.

then, hardly does justice to the depth of Aristotle’s moral
conception. But it remains true, that the starting-point of
the two philosophers was broadly different—that Aristotle
started with the question of his day, What is the practical
chief good—or, as it is popularly called, Happiness? and
only gradually, by thought and the progress of his own
analysis, came to assign a definition which is really above the
vulgar conception of happiness. Kant, on the contrary,
commencing with the stern and sublime idea of Duty due to
the deeper thought of modern time, and wishing to free this
from all considerations of external reward and happiness,
comes round in the end to take in some account of con-
sequences, and to supplement his view with the hopes of a
future life—thus testifying, perhaps, that the good and the
right are ultimately inseparable conceptions for Ethics. We
have seen above that Aristotle’s principle of ‘the mean,’
objected to by Kant, is a sufficient expression of the objective
law of virtue, but only insufficient to express the subjective
side of right action—the feeling of duty, the attitude assumed
by the will and consciousness in relation to a moral act.
Kant commences burthened with the notion of obligation ;
this he proceeds to analyse. Aristotle, writing as it were in
the childhood of the world, commences with an idea of the
beautiful and the good in human life and action, and of the
inner joy of the human mind.

Another question of modern Ethics, also mooted by tl the
Stoics, but developed in its full proportions since, is the
question of the freedom of the will. This may have two
bearings—-either theological, in relation to the will of God;
or metaphysical, in relation to the law of cause and effect in
the order of nature. How is the freedom of the will com-
patible with the omnipotence of God? How is it recon-
cileable with the unalterable sequence of cause and effect in

NARROWNESS OF ARISTOTLE’S SYSTEM. 317

nature? Is the will a cause only, or is it also an effect ἢ
The various answers to these questions, in modern times, it
would be out of place to discuss. The only thing to be
observed here is, that the questions themselves are virtually
excluded from consideration in the Ethics of Aristotle. That
all theological or metaphysical considerations with regard to
the freedom of the will should be set aside by Aristotle, and.
that he should have restricted himself to a mere “ Political’
discussion (cf. Hth. m1. i. 1), is quite in keeping with the
general tenour of his treatise ; but it must be called a weak-
ness. It proceeds from an uncertainty of view about the
nature of Ethics—from the confusion (so often alluded to)
between Ethics and Politics. We might almost say, that
could Aristotle have thought and written for ten years more,
this narrowness of view would have been abandoned. The
question of free-will had been touched upon by Democritus,
who said that ‘in the whirl of necessity man was only half a
slave.’ Also, in the conclusion of Plato’s Republic, we find
man’s responsibility asserted even in spite of the transmi-
gration of souls. From all this aspect of the question
Aristotle shuts himself out. He restricts himself to a
polemic against a smaller proposition, belonging probably
to the early, or Socratic Platonism—namely, that as virtue
is knowledge, vice is ignorance, and therefore involuntary.
Aristotle answers to this, that we act in society as if vice
were free; that vice must, after all, stand on the same level
as its contrary virtue; that, assuming virtue to be free, vice
must be free also; that if it be said our ideas of the end
(or the good) be beyond our control, that this will make
virtue involuntary ; and, again, it will ignore two considera-
tions—first, that we probably contribute at all events some-
thing to our ideas of the end; second, that we are at all
events free to choose our means to the end. Obviously all

318 ESSAY VII.

these different arguments might be shown to be insufficient.
It might be answered, that our acting as if free in society
proves nothing—that the puppet-show moves as if it were
free, unless we look at the strings—that legislator, judge,
and criminal may all be equally under the bands of necessity
—that each individual step by which ‘we form our own
character’ may be determined for us, so our ‘ contribution’
to our own ideas comes to nothing—that there is no proof
given of the choice of the means being free—in fact, that the
idea of the end necessarily determines the means. We see,
then, the insufficiency of all such merely practical arguments
to solve a question of this magnitude and difficulty. Cer-
tainly we may live and act without solving the question of
free-will; but if we ever attempt to solve it, we must do so
in a philosophical spirit. Aristotle’s method of dealing with
the subject constitutes a difference between him and modern
thinkers. No so great philosopher as himself could, in
modern times, have virtually discarded, as not necessary for
Ethics, the difficulties regarding the freedom of the will.
Had Aristotle’s starting-point been an idea of individual
responsibility, he would, in all probability, have written
otherwise.

Having once known and acknowledged the deep-lying
variations which exist in point of view and in spirit between
any modern moral system and the early half-immature
system of Aristotle——we are the better able to deal with
the traces of his influence which still remain. There is
indeed so great a field of derived terms and conceptions that
the sense of similarity has often overpowered the sense of
difference, and people have been led still further to seek for
likeness between their own views and Aristotle’s, where there
was only dissimilarity really existing. All systems of morals
present, on their surface, terms that seem perfectly Ari-

NEW MEANINGS OF ARISTOTELIAN TERMS. 319

stotelian ; the ‘ law of habits,’ the opposition of ‘ the passions’
and ‘the reason,’ ‘motives,’ ‘ principles,’ ‘energy, the doc-
trine that ‘extremes meet,’ the contrast of ‘moral’ and
‘intellectual,’ the ‘end of man,’ and perhaps others such like
are instances of words and phrases which, when we first meet
them in a Greek form in Aristotle, seem to us quite familiar,
so that we are apt to substitute their modern context for
their original and genuine philosophic import. An ex-
amination, however, of these terms, will show that almost all
of them are at all events slightly altered, and that we cannot
understand Aristotle without restoring to them a lost asso-
ciation. ‘ Habits’ is no doubt only the Latinized form of
ἕξεις, but the meaning which attached to és does not remain
pure in ‘habit’ as it is generally used. Rather it implies
ἔθος, ὁ.6. that process by which a ἕξις is formed. The
‘ passions’ with us, though a translation of πάθη, do not quite
correspond with them, they more nearly answer to the
ἐπιθυμίαι of Aristotle. ‘Motive’ is properly the “ efficient
cause’ (ὅθεν ἡ xivnots), but applying it to action we use it
invariably for the ‘final cause’ (οὗ ἕνεκα) which was Ari-
stotle’s term for the motive of an action. ‘ Principle, as
above mentioned (p. 219), corresponds with the ἀρχή of the
practical syllogism, but according to the Peripatetic system
this major premiss contained an idea of the good, while our
‘ principle’ is meant to imply an idea of the right. ‘ Energy,’
though identical in form with ἐνέργεια, has quite lost all
notion of a contrast and correlation with δύναμις or poten-
tiality, and implies merely the exercise of physical or moral
force. In saying ‘extremes meet,’ we forget the philoso-
phical antithesis between the extremes and the mean, and all
which that ‘mean’ originally implied. In translating Ari-
stotle’s ἠθικὴ ἀρετή by the terms ‘ moral virtue’ we omit to
notice how much all these associations connected with the

320 ESSAY VII.

individual will, which go to make up our conception of
‘moral,’ were wanting in Aristotle’s ἠθικὴ ἀρετή, while this,
strictly speaking, might perhaps be better represented by the
words ‘ excellence of the character,’ and, as has been already
made apparent, in speaking of ‘the end of man,’ we sub-
stitute a religious for a philosophical association.

The above-mentioned terms, however, have all a direct
affinity to, and a lineal descent from, the system of Aristotle.
They have only suffered that degree of change to which all
language is liable, and which so many ancient words have
undergone in their transition to modern use. Modern terms
of this derivative character present, for the most part, two
characteristics, as contrasted with their antique originals. In
the first place, they are more definite. In the second place,
they are less philosophic. The philosophy, however, that
once surrounded them and formed their proper context, in
ebbing away from them has really sunk into the general
thought of the world and become absorbed in it. If ‘ energy’
no longer represents ἐνέργεια, ‘actuality’ and many other
forms of thought contain and reproduce all that was philoso-
phical in the original word. If ‘habit’ is not exactly ἕξις,
the ‘law of habits’ is a received doctrine in all practical
Ethics. And so in a variety of ways Aristotle has influenced
our views, while our particular terms do not exactly square
with his. Our words, we have said, are more definite than

his. This with regard to psychological words is particularly

the case. Ψυχή, 88. we have seen, is very inadequately repre-
sented by ‘soul,’ which, on the one hand, expresses too little,
on the other hand, too much. We cannot properly translate
φρόνησις by ‘ prudence,’ still less by ‘ conscience.’ ἸΠολιτική
means something different from our “ politics.’ ᾿Αρετή conveys
a somewhat false impression when translated ‘virtue.’ It
would be an anachronism to make ‘duty’ stand for τὸ δέον.

THE ETHICS REMOTE FROM MODERN SPIRIT. 921

And the most flagrant instance of all of an attempt to find
modern notions among the ancients, and Christian notions
among the Greeks, is where persons have thought that they
have discovered in one or two places of Aristotle’s Ethics the
doctrine of ‘ human corruption.’

It is only by an effort of mind, and not immediately, or at
first sight, that we can understand Aristotle’s Ethics, as they
really are. It is a difficult task to throw aside our associa-
tions and views, which all belong to what Bacon calls the
‘old age of the world,’ and to go back to the era of
Alexander, and put ourselves into the position of this early
but deeply-penetrating thinker. We have seen that much
of his thought has been amalgamated with our own. There.
is much else in the profounder parts of his Ethical system,
which is, when properly discerned and felt, a real revelation
with regard to human life. Taken as a whole, however, when
we consider this noble treatise in relation to modern thought,
we feel there is something about it that stands apart from
ourselves; that its main interest is historical; that we look
back on it as on an ancient building shining in the fresh
light of an Athenian morning.

APPENDIX A.

—-+4-- —

On the Ethical Method of Aristotle.

OME notice of Aristotle’s Ethical method seems necessary
for completeness ;—it is a subject too long for a note and
too short for an Essay, and may be briefly dispatched here.
Incidentally we have already alluded to several characteristics
of his point of view. And in the last resort a philosopher’s
method, whatever be the subject or science, depends on the
whole bearing of his mind and thought. With regard to
Ethics, we may first observe, that while Aristotle seems to
occupy himself much with the logic of the science, and the
question, What is its appropriate method ? he is quite tenta-
tive and uncertain, and to some extent confused, in all he
directly answers to this question. In the second place, we
may notice that his method unconsciously declares itself, not
in the abstract but in the concrete, throughout the pages of
his treatise.

At the very outset of his work, in the first seven chapters,
he has no less than three digressions on the logic of Ethics.
In the first (th. τ. iii. i—4), he cautions his readers against
expecting too much ἀκρίβεια in the present science. This
term ἀκρίβεια (see the notes on ΜΝ. 1. vii. 18) seems to
imply both mathematical exactness and also metaphysical
subtlety. The Ethical treatise of Spinoza might be said to
exhibit ἀκρίβεια in both senses of the word, on account of
its demonstrative statement, combined with its metaphysical

ARISTOTLE’S ETHICAL METHOD. 323

character of thought. Kant’s system, without aiming at a
mathematical method, might be called ἀκριβής, on account of
its speculative depth of view. The question then is, of how
much ἀκρίβεια is this ‘branch of Politics’ (πολιτική tis)
capable? Aristotle tells us, that ‘the matters of which it
treats—virtue and justice—have so much about them that is
fluctuating and uncertain, as even to have given rise to the
opinion that they are only conventional distinctions. Hence,
with such conceptions on which to reason, we cannot expect
demonstrative and exact conclusions, we must be content
with rough and general theories.’ It is to be observed here,
that Aristotle departs from the point of view with which he
had started. He started with an ἃ priori conception of the
End-in-itself, which ‘must be identical with the chief good
for man.’ Here he goes off into another point of view—
that which looks at action from the outside, recognizes the
variations in the details of action, and allows the empirical
casuistry of the Sophists to have an influence in determining
the character of his science.

In his second digression upon this topic (Hth. 1. iv. 5) he
shows even more plainly a tentative and uncertain attitude.
He says, ‘We must not forget the distinction drawn by Plato
between the two methods of science—the method which pro-
ceeds from principles, and that which proceeds to principles.
The question is, Which must we adopt at present? We must
begin, at all events, with things known. But again, things
are known in two ways, absolutely and relatively. Perhaps
we may be content to begin with what we know (ὖ.6., relative
and not absolute truths). Hence the necessity of a good
moral training previous to the study of this science. For
one who has been so trained is in possession of facts which
either already do, or soon can, stand in the light of principles.’
In this passage there appears to be more than one play upon

εἰς,

324 APPENDIX A.

words :—(1) In saying, ‘we must begin with what we know,’
there is a sort of bantering implication that the method of
Ethics must be inductive, starting from relative and individual
facts. But there is a fallacy in such an insinuation, because,
though the individual must begin with what ‘he knows,’
there is nothing to prevent an absolute truth (τὸ ἁπλῶς
γνώριμον) forming part of the intuitions and experience of
the individual. (2) There appears to be a play on the word
ἀρχή : for while Aristotle implies that the procedure must be
to principles, and not starting from them, he says, on the
other hand, that ‘the fact is a principle.’ Now, this may
mean two things. It may mean that ‘a moral fact or
perception really amounts to a law.’ But, in this case, the
science of Ethics, beginning with moral facts, really begins ἀπ᾿
ἀρχῶν. Or it may mean that ‘ the fact isa beginning or start-
ing-point for discussion.’ In this latter case the word ἀρχή
should not have been used, as it introduces confusion into
the present passage—the upshot of which, on the whole,
seems to be, to assert in a very wavering way that Ethics must
be inductive rather than deductive, and must commence with
experience of particulars rather than with intuitions of the
universal.

The third digression on the same subject occurs Eth. 1. vii.
17—21, where Aristotle points out his definition of the chief
good as ‘a sketch to be filled up ;’ and also, it would appear,
as an ἀρχή or leading principle, which in importance amounts
to ‘more than half the whole’ science. In filling up the
sketch, he again cautions us that too much ἀκρίβεια is not to
be expected. But it is plain that he has deserted his former
view of the science as inductive ; he now makes it depend on
a general conception of the chief good, which is to be applied
and developed.

Elsewhere in the Ethics Aristotle appears puzzled how to

ARISTOTLE’S ETHICAL METHOD. 325

deal with the casuistry of his subject. He says (Eth. τι. ii.
3—+4) that ‘the actions and the interests of men exhibit no
fixed rule, any more than the conditions of health do; and if
this is the case with the universal theory, still more is the
theory of particular acts incapable of being exactly fixed, for
it falls under the domain of no art or regimen, but the actors
themselves must always watch what suits the occasion, as is
the way with the physician’s and the pilot’s art. And yet,
though the theory is of such a kind, we must do what we can
to help it out.’ He reverts to the same point of view, Eth.
IX. 11. 6, mentioning some casuistical difficulties, and saying
it is impossible to give a fixed rule on such points.

Much as Aristotle speaks of the logic of science, we find,
when we come to examine his real procedure, how little he is
influenced by his own abstract rules of method. It has been
sometimes said that his Hihics exhibits a perfect specimen of
the analytic method. But this is not really true. The dis-
cussions are very frequently of an analytic character, different
parts and elements of human life are treated separately, and
indeed are not sufficiently considered in their mutual relation-
ship. But the leading principles of the science are not
obtained by this sort of analysis, there is not by any means
a procedure ἐπ᾽ ἀρχάς. Aristotle’s bias of mind was only on
one side analytical, he was on the other side deeply specula-
tive and synthetical, and viewed all the world as reduced to
unity under certain forms of thought, and, as we have said
before, every philosopher’s modes and forms of thought, his
genius, his breadth of view, and his power of penetration, will
constitute in reality his logic of science and his method of
discovery.

Aristotle’s Ethical system, as we saw more in detail in
Essay IV., depends on certain profound ὦ priori conceptions,
end, form, and actuality. We are enabled to some extent to

326 APPENDIX A.

trace how these conceptions grew up out of Platonism, but
in their ultimate depth and force they must be regarded as
lightning-flashes from the genius of Aristotle. These great
ideas, by which human life is explained, are no mere results
of an induction, no last development of experience, rather
they come in from above, and for the first time give some
meaning to experience. Aristotle shows how his definition
of the chief good includes all the previous notices of the
requisitions for happiness. But his definition is not derived
from combining these, nor yet from any analysis of happiness
in the concrete, but from an inner intuition of a law of good
as manifested in life. The same procedure manifests itself
throughout. Whatever use Aristotle may make of his ἀπορίαι;
of appeals to language and experience, of the authority of
the many and the few, these are only means of testing,
correcting, illustrating, and amplifying his conceptions, and
not the source from whence they spring. However, it is just
the maintenance of this constant reconciliation with experi-
ence and with popular points of view that is the characteristic
of Aristotle’s method, as distinguished from Plato’s. That it
gives rise at times to an empirical and unphilosophical mode
of writing, we have had more than once an opportunity of
observing. But it is Aristotle’s strength as well as his weak-
ness. His width of mind, which is as distinguished as its
profundity, enabled him to sum up all the knowledge of
ancient times, as well as all its philosophy. Bacon accuses
him of being ‘a dogmatic,’ and of resembling the Ottoman
princes who killed all their brethren before they could reign
themselves. This accusation is an invidious and utterly un-
fair way of stating the real case. Aristotle is ‘a dogmatic,
inasmuch as his philosophy is γνωριστικὴ οὐ πειραστική, COn-
clusive, and not merely starting the questions. Also he shows
the relationship of all previous philosophies and contem-

ARISTOTLE’S ETHICAL METHOD. 327

porary opinions to his own system, by which he does not so
much ‘kill his brethren’ as demonstrate that they are evi-
dently ‘younger brethren,’ leaving his own right to the
throne indefeasible. If in the term ‘dogmatist’ arrogance
or assumption is implied, this would not be true either of
his style of writing, or tone of thought. And he is by no
means dogmatic on all points; on some, as we have already
seen (in Essay V.), he declines to decide.

APPENDIX B.

----«---

On the ἜΞΩΤΕΡΙΚΟΙΪ ΛΟΓΟΙ͂.

ὁ δεινῶν is a question of minor importance which has still
been thought worthy of a good deal of discussion, namely,
what is meant by the ἐξωτερικοὶ λόγοι, which Aristotle occa-
sionally mentions? We are told by Aulus Gellius (xx. 4)
that Aristotle, the master of Alexander of Macedon, had two
sorts of teaching, and that his writings admit of a twofold
division. That in the morning he used to give to intimate
disciples instructions, which were called Acroatic, in the deeper
parts of philosophy ; that in the afternoon he gave discourses,
which were called exoteric, to the public in general. That
Alexander, hearing that the Acroatic discourses had been
published, wrote from the East to complain of what had been
done, since he ‘should now have no superiority over the
vulgar’; and that Aristotle replied that ‘ the treatises, though
published, were not published, since nobody would understand
them.’

When we look this story in the face, and ask what is its
historical foundation, how much of it can be relied on ?—one
fact alone seems to remain with any stability, and that is, that
the words éwrepixol λόγοι are occasionally used in the
writings of Aristotle. All the rest is a mere fabrication put
together to adorn the rhetorical topic of the relationship of |
Aristotle to Alexander. When we consider that Alexander
was a mere boy when Aristotle was his tutor—that he
probably learnt from bim Homer and mathematics—that

᾿ἘΕΞΙΩΤΕΡΙΚΟῚ ΛΟΓΟΙ. 829

Aristotle himself speaks of the impossibility of a boy being a
proficient in ethics, physics, or philosophy—that even these
early years of instruction were broken by domestic troubles
and the premature cares of state—that Aristotle was working
out for himself, up to the time of his death, the deeper parts
of his philosophy, and could not have had it ready, like a
sort of mystery, to reveal to his pupil—when we consider all
this, we may well come to the conclusion that Alexander
knew no more of the Metaphysics of Aristotle than any
soldier in his army; and that as the latter part of the story
is a fabrication, so the former is not worthy of the very least
reliance. In short, we have not any sufficient ground for
believing in the above-mentioned division of the teaching of
Aristotle, and we still have to ask afresh for ourselves, what
does he mean by the ἐξωτερικοὶ λόγοι ?

We have already (p. 5) accepted the tradition of Cicero,
that Aristotle wrote certain exoteric, that is, popular, dis-
courses. We saw that their first characteristic, as compared
with the philosophical works, was that they were finished in
point of style. Cicero was probably acquainted with these
better than with the more difficult remains of Aristotle. He
mentions other characteristics of them, namely, that they had
proems to them ; he says, in writing to Atticus, ‘ Quoniam in
singulis libris utor procemiis, ut Aristoteles in iis quos ἐξωτερι-
xovs vocat.’ Now we can trust Cicero about the proems; but
about the more subtle point of interest, that Aristotle called
some of his own works-exoteric, he is not a sufficiently dis-
criminating authority to be relied on. In another of his
letters (Ep. ad Famil. τ. 93 23), he speaks of his three books
De Oratore, as ‘a dialogue in the style of Aristotle.’ And again
(Ep. ad Atticwm, x11. 19) he says that he has copied Aristotle,
‘who in his dialogues always assigns to himself the leading
part in the conversation.’ We have now gained some idea of

330 APPENDIX B.

the appearance of Aristotle’s popular works, as they were
read by Cicero. The names probably of some of them, as,
for instance, the “ Gryllus, &c., are preserved in the list of
Diogenes Laertius, but the works themselves are all lost.
The question then is, does Aristotle refer to this class of his
writings under the name of of ἐξωτερικοὶ λόγοι

The great & priori improbability of such a thing is almost
a sufficient answer to the question. For though it is con-
ceivable that a philosopher should in certain higher and more
rhetorical dialogues (which might be analogous to a novel
written in moments of relaxation by a philosopher of modern
times) quote and appeal to his own scientific treatises,—it is
quite inconceivable that he should in those scientific treatises
appeal for the support of any doctrines to his “ exoterie works.’
And when we look to particular passages where the references
to the ἐξωτερικοὶ λόγοι occur, it becomes still more manifest,
from several little indications, that Aristotle cannot be quot-
ing his own dialogues.

In Eth. τ. xiii. 9, in speaking of the ψυχή, he says, Λέγεται
δὲ περὶ αὐτῆς καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἐξωτερικοῖς λόγοις ἀρκούντως ἔνια
καὶ χρηστέον αὐτοῖς" οἷον τὸ μὲν ἄλογον αὐτῆς εἶναι, τὸ δὲ
λόγον ἔχον. In this not only is there the @ priort impro-
bability of Aristotle’s referring, for a psychological division
on which so much of his Ethics is based, to a merely popular
set of dialogues written by himself; but also we see at once
the unlikelihood of his having summed up his own popular
works under one head, and spoken of them as ‘ the exoteric
treatises,,—this would imply a sort of completeness about the
‘Works of Aristotle’ suitable totimes like those of Cicero,
when editions of these works had been before the world for
two hundred years, and when a recent recension had been
made by Andronicus, but utterly unsuitable to Aristotle’s own
lifetime, and his own feeling about his multifarious, but un-

*REOTEPIKO! AOLoO!. 331

completed labours. Again, the word λέγεται is in the manner
of a general reference and not a special quotation. Again,
the word καί prefixed to ἐν τοῖς ἐξ. λόγ., as it invariably is by
Aristotle, implies a sort of disparagement, not natural in a
writer appealing for arguments to others of his own writings.
It short, it is obvious that here Aristotle says that ‘even in
popular accounts there is a sufficiently accurate division of
the ψυχή, which he will ‘make use of’ for his present
purposes. This same interpretation of οἱ ἐξωτερικοὶ λόγοι to
mean ‘ unscientific talk,’ theories and opinions belonging to
the outer world, outside the schools of philosophy—will be
found to hold good in the other four places where the terms
are used by Aristotle. We will subjoin them without
comment. .

(1) Metaphys. xu. i. 4. Σκεπτέον πρῶτον μὲν περὶ τῶν
μαθηματικῶν, ---ἔπευτα μετὰ ταῦτα χωρὶς περὶ τῶν ἰδεῶν αὐτῶν
ἁπλῶς καὶ ὅσον νόμου χάριν" τεθρύλληται γὰρ τὰ πολλὰ καὶ
ὑπὸ τῶν ἐξωτερικῶν λόγων.

(2) Nat. Ause. tv. x. τ. ᾿Εχόμενον δὲ τῶν εἰρημένων ἐστὶ
ἐπελθεῖν περὶ χρόνου" πρῶτον δὲ καλῶς ἔχει διαπορῆσαι περὶ
αὐτοῦ καὶ διὰ τῶν ἐξωτερικῶν λόγων (even from the popular
point of view) πότερον τῶν ὄντων ἐστὶν ἢ τῶν μὴ ὄντων,
εἶτα τίς ἡ φύσις αὐτοῦ.

(3) Politics, 11. vi. 5. Ἀλλὰ μὴν καὶ τῆς ἀρχῆς τοὺς
λεγομένους τρόπους ῥᾷάδιον διελεῖν" καὶ γὰρ ἐν τοῖς ἐξωτερικοῖς
λόγοις διοριζόμεθα περὶ αὐτῶν πολλάκι-.. ᾿

(4) Politics, vit. i, 2. -- Διὸ δεῖ πρῶτον ὁμολογεῖσθαι, τίς ὁ
πᾶσιν ws εἰπεῖν αἱρετώτατος βίος" μετὰ δὲ τοῦτο, ππότερον κοινῇ
καὶ χωρὶς ὁ αὐτὸς ἢ ἕτερος. Νομίσαντας οὖν ἱκανῶς πολλὰ
λέγεσθαι καὶ τῶν ἐν τοῖς ἐξωτερικοῖς λόγοις περὶ τῆς ἀρίστης
ζωῆς καὶ νῦν χρηστέον αὐτοῖς. The last passage does not
contain, as some think, a reference to the Ethics, but rather
an exact parallel to the way of speaking quoted above, Eth. 1.

332 APPENDIX B.

xiii. g. Aristotle proceeds, not to give any doctrine established
in the Ethics, but to collect certain popular and universally
received conceptions of happiness. In addition to these
places of Aristotle, we may mention three passages in which
Eudemus uses the terms ἐξ. λόγ. One of these occurs Hth.
Hud. τι. i. 1, where the writer speaks of the threefold division
of goods, as a popular division (καθάπερ διαιρούμεθα καὶ ἐν
τοῖς ἐξωτερικοῖς λόγοι5). In another (Hth. Hud. τ. viii. 4) he
says that the doctrine of Ideas has been variously discussed,
both philosophically and from a popular point of view (καὶ
ἐν τοῖς ἐξωτερικοῖς λόγοις καὶ ἐν τοῖς κατὰ φιλοσοφίαν). In
the Eudemian book (Κλ. νι. iv. 1) it is said that the popular
distinction between ‘ action’ and ‘ production’ is quite suffi-
cient (ἕτερον δ᾽ ἐστὶ ποίησις καὶ πρᾶξις. ἹΠιστεύομεν δὲ περὶ
αὐτῶν καὶ τοῖς ἐξωτερικοῖς λόγοι).

Another term used by Aristotle in exactly the same sense
as ἐξωτερικοὶ λόγοι is ἐγκύκλιοι λόγοι, for an explanation of
which see the note on Eth. 1. v. 6.

APPENDIX C.

------.----
On the Political Ideas in the Ethics of Aristotle.

may seem a strange omission that, while we have so
often alluded to Aristotle’s identification or confusion of
Ethics with Politics, we have never specified any very im-
portant consequences of this view; except, indeed, that we
have noticed sometimes a restricted mode of dealing with
certain questions, more appropriate to Politics than to philo-
sophy. It remains then to ask, were there any such conse-
quences? Does Aristotle write on Ethics differently because
he considered that his science was a kind of Politics? Is the
individual in his eyes always regarded as a citizen? Do his
views of law, the state, and different questions of the consti-
tution influence his views upon moral action? Every one
will be ready to answer that such effects are hardly traceable.
We read the Ethics as containing discussions on happiness,
virtue, friendship, pleasure, and philosophy; we find it
replete with anthropology, dealing with the heights and the
depths of the human consciousness, and quite away from any
consideration of the welfare of masses of mankind. Hap-
piness, as here described, does not depend on any parti-
cular constitution or form of government. Aristotle, indeed,
specifies the various forms of government, and declares which
is the best among them (th. vi. x.), but this is only for
the purpose of illustration, for the sake of comparing the
different degrees of equality in various kinds of friendship
with the different degrees of liberty in various forms of the

334 APPENDIX Ὁ.

constitution. Aristotle’s entering into detail here with regard
to the governments is not so much a mark of consistency in
preserving a political point of view, but rather it is a want of
art and an entrenchment upon the subject of Politics proper.
It would be called too long a digression, supposing there
were a settled coordination of subject between the different
parts of Aristotle’s system. A still greater entrenchment on
the province of Politics occurs in the theory of justice given
in Book V. It is remarkable that this book, in all pro-
bability by Eudemus, sets forth a closer dependence of moral
on political principles that any other book in the Ethics.
Eudemus, as we saw before (p. 18), does not, at the outset,
like Aristotle, commence under the name of Politics. But
in Book V. he probably merely reproduced, in perhaps a
somewhat garbled form, the theory of Aristotle. Justice is
here defined according to principles of Jurisprudence and
Political Economy. To make these a part of morals would
be a confusion we should never now fall into; though we
might confess that it would be hard to give the ethical
idea of justice its full content without appealing to these
extraneous sciences.

Other allusions to Politics occur, (Hih. τ. xiii. 2) where he
says that ‘the true politician must study the nature of vir-
tue;’ (111. i. 1) where he says that ‘a theory of the volun-
tary and involuntary will be useful to legislators ;’ (ὙΠ. xi.
1) where it is said that ‘it belongs to the political philoso-
pher to consider pleasure, since he is the architect of the
End-in-itself ; (vim. i. 4) ‘friendship holds states together ;
legislators seem more anxious for this than for justice,’
Lastly, we have the most remarkable place of all, when, at
the conclusion of his ethical treatise (x. ix. 8), he makes the
transition to Politics proper, by saying that ‘ for virtue, not
only nature, but habits and teaching are requisite, and these

RELATION OF ETHICS TO POLITICS. 335

last must be provided by the state. Hence,’ he says, ‘the
nurture and the discipline should be fixed by law, and use
will make them easy. Not only, perhaps, ought men while
youths to receive good discipline, but also we want laws
about their conduct when they are grown up; and, in short,
about the whole of life. For the many will rather obey
necessity than reason, punishment than the inducements of
the beautiful.’

With these evidences before us, let us now sum up the
bearing of Aristotle’s political thought upon what we now
call his Ethics. There seems to be an analogy between
Aristotle’s views of man in relation to the state, and his
views of man in relation to nature. We have seen before
(Essay V.) that in his Physics he considers man as part
of nature, and, because he is a part, inferior to and less
divine than the heaven and the universe; so, too, in his
political system, he considers the state prior to and greater
than the individual (Politics, 1. ii. 13), just as the whole
is prior to and greater than the part. The individual
without the state has no meaning; the state must be pre-
supposed; man is not a whole in himself (αὐτάρκης), he is
born to live in relationship to others (πολιτικός), if he lived
alone he must be either more or less than man (ἢ θηρίον
ἢ θεός). Just as Aristotle said ‘the universe is diviner than
man,’ so he says ‘the End for the state is diviner than that
for the individual.’ Politics, then, is the greatest science,
the legislator is an ἀρχιτέκτων, a master builder laying the
plan of that greatest practical thing, a fitly framed human
society. This idea, if it were carried out, would tend to
overwhelm all individuality. It actually does so in Plato’s
Republic, and the last-quoted passage (Hth. x. ix. 8) is a
reproduction of the same feeling as Plato’s. The laws are to
regulate the whole of life, and to force a good discipline on

336 APPENDIX C.

those who would not choose virtue for its own sake. This
idea then forms one side of Aristotle’s view, it is a sort of
background to his ethical system. The End for the state,
as he depicts it (see above, p. 178), is something almost
mystical, it is like the identification of state and church.
But the other side of his view is that which seems forced on
him by the truth, as soon as he commences a course of
ethical inquiries. It consists in an acknowledgment, to the
full, of the absolute worth of the individual consciousness.
Not only is a reaction thus made against the system of Plato,
but also, by the whole treatment which Aristotle gives his
subject, Ethics is virtually and for ever separated from
Politics.

“THE NICOMACHEAN ETHICS.

arena

BOOKS I.—IL.

PLAN OF BOOK I.

HIS Book may be roughly divided into the following four
parts :-—

(1.) The statement of the leading question of political science ;
namely, What is the Practical Chief Good? Ch. I.—VI.

(2.) The answer to this question as given by Aristotle himself. -
Ch. VII.

(3.) A comparison of Aristotle’s definition of the Chief Good with
existing opinions on the subject. Ch. VIII.—XII.

(4.) A commencement of the analysis of the different elements
which constitute his definition, Ch. XIII.

With respect to these divisions, we may remark that they are not
with entire precision separated from one another. For the first part
professes to examine the most important opinions on the subject of
Happiness or the Chief Good (Ch. IV. § 4), and accordingly reviews
men’s conceptions of it as exhibited in their lives (Ch. V.), and
refutes Plato’s theory that the Chief Good is a transcendental Idea,
on the ground of its being both metaphysically untenable and
practically inapplicable.

After developing his own conception, Aristotle returns (in Ch. VIII,
sqq.) to compare it with τὰ Aeyduera— that goods of the mind are
highest ;’ ‘ that happiness consists in virtue,’ &c. Now we may ask,
why did not a statement of these theories open the Book? Both in
Part 1st and Part 3rd we have to do with the existing opinions. Had
Aristotle pursued his usual method, he would have preluded his Ethics
with a brief critical history of the previous progress of the science, in
which the leading systems would have been refuted or shown to be
inadequate. But it seems as if he did not set out with so clear a
conception of ethics as he does of physics and metaphysics. Before

22 ι

340 PLAN OF BOOK I.

Aristotle, Ethics cannot be said to have existed as a separate science.
Even in the present work there is no name for it as yet. Though
ἠθικοὶ λόγοι and τὰ ἠθικά are spoken of in the Politics (IIL. xii. 1,
VII. xiii. 5), and in the Metaphysics (I. i. 17), yet the word ἠθική
does not occur. The science is still πολιτική τις (Eth. I. ii. 9); and
even in the Rhetoric, which contains the results of the present
enquiries, we find it specified as ἡ περὶ ra ἤθη πραγματεία ἣν δίκαιόν
ἐστι προσαγορεύειν πολιτικήν (1. 11. 7).

Hence we may recognise something tentative and uncertain in
Aristotle’s treatment of the subject. He seems not clear as to how
far he is entering on a merely practical and political science, and
how far on something speculative. He professes to lay the founda-
tions for his science inductively (Ch. IV. §§ 5-7) in experience,
but really obtains his own theory from a priori grounds, arguing
what the Chief Good must be. That Aristotle’s principle, thus
obtained, is truly profound, we need not fail to acknowledge. Only,
with regard to the science as a whole, we see that he was feeling his
way ; and we must not expect to find, even in the First Book of his
Ethics, a finished work of art.

With this proviso, we may rapidly trace the sequence of ideas
contained by the Book, as follows. The distinction between means
and ends characterizes every part of life and action. Given the
subordination of means to ends, there must be some end which is
never a means. This End-in-itself of all action is obviously iden-
tical with the Practical Chief Good (δῆλον ὡς τοῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη τἀγαθὸν καὶ
τὸ ἄριστον). What, then, is this Chief Good—which must be the
determinator of life—and which is the object of Politics, the supreme
practical science ?

To this question no answer is to be obtained from the common
opinions of men; nor from their lives, for the most part; nor from
the metaphysical system of Plato.

The Good and the End are always identical; hence, as already
said, the Chief Good is identical with the End-in-itself. In this con-
ception the idea of absoluteness and all-sufficiency would seem to be
implied {τὸ yap τέλειον ἀγαθὸν αὔταρκες εἶναι δοκεῖ). It must be
realised in the proper sphere of man, which a consideration of the
scale of life leads us to see must be a rational and moral existence.
To give meaning to the conception of this existence, we must assume

---

PLAN OF BOOK I. 341

that it falls under the category of the actual ; in other words, that it
is ‘conscious life;’ and this must be in accordance with its own
proper law of excellence, and not frustrated by external adversity or
shortness of duration. Hence we get a definition of the Chief Good
for man—that it consists in ‘a rightly harmonized consciousness in
adequate external conditions.’

Comparing this fundamental principle (ἀρχή) with the opinions
and theories of others, we find that it includes or supersedes them.
From it we get an answer to the common question, ‘Is happiness to
be acquired by human efforts?’ and by means of it we are able to see
the shallowness of Solon’s view implied in the saying that ‘No man
can be called happy while he lives.’ It at once renders nugatory the
question, Is happiness praiseworthy or above praise?

Assuming, then, the definition as above, let us examine its com-
ponent parts. And, first, what is that law of excellence (peculiar to
man) which is to regulate his mind? <A popular psychology serves
as a basis for discussing this. Man is a compound of a rational and
an irrational nature. Part of his irrational nature (the passions) rise
into communion with reason. This part, then, and the reason itself,
are two elements in’ which human excellence may be exhibited.
According to this division, we distinguish, on the one hand, intel-
lectual excellence ; on the other hand, moral excellence or virtue:
and these two may henceforth be separately discussed.

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQON I.

-----οοξοϑοο------

24000

ὁμοίως δὲ πρᾶξίς τε

|} τέ καὶ πᾶσα
’ὔ ~ ~
καὶ προαίρεσις, ἀγαθοῦ τινὸς ἐφίεσθαι δοκεῖ" ἰδιὸ

I. The opening of Aristotle’s Ethics
might be paralleled with that of his
Metaphysics—mdvres ἄνθρωποι τοῦ εἰ-
δέναι ὀρέγονται φύσει. As there it is
first said that ‘all by a natural instinct
desire knowledge,’ and then Aristotle
proceeds to distinguish among the
various kinds of knowledge a supreme
kind, which is Philosophy or Meta-
physics; so here he says that every
human impulse is prompted by the
desire of some good, or is, in other
words, a means to some end, and
among ends there is one supreme end,
which is never a means, the object of
polities—the chief good, or human
happiness. The beginning of the
Politics is also very similar. All
actions are done for the sake of what
is thought to be good. Therefore all
societies aim at some good, and that
society which includes all others aims
at the highest good. See p. 16,"

1 πᾶσα τέχνη---δοκεῖ) ‘Every art
and every science, and so, too, every
act and purpose, seems to aim at some
good,’ ie. ‘every exercise of the
human powers.’ The enumeration
here given answers to the division of
the mind (Eth. vt. ii) into speculative,
productive, and practical. Μέθοδος is

literally ‘way’ or ‘road’ to know- |

ledge, #.e. a research or inquiry. The
metaphor still appears in such places
as Plato’s Republic, vu. p. 533 ©, 7
διαλεκτικὴ μέθοδος μόνη TavTn πορεύε-
ται. Phedrus 269 pv, οὐχ ἣ Τισία-----
πορεύεται δοκεῖ μοι φαίνέσθαι ἣ μέθο-
Sos. It is farther used in the sense
of a regular or scientific methed, and
it stands here, as elsewhere (Eth. 1.
li. 9, Poet. xix. 2, Phys. τ. i. 1), for
science itself. The word is well de-
fined by Simplicius (in Arist. Phys.
fol. 4), 7 μετὰ ὁδοῦ τινὸς εὐτάκτου πρόο-
Πρᾶξις and προαί-
ρεσις, action and purpose, go to make
up one conception, that of ‘ moral ac-
tion.’ They are related as languageto
thought, the outer tothe inner. Aoxe?
does not imply any doubt in the asser-
tion. Sometimes it denotes the opi-
nion of others, not of Aristotle him-
self (Zth. 1. iii. 2, X. viii. 13, where see
note), but sometimes it is a part of
style, to avoid the appearance of dog-
matism. With this use of δοκεῖ may
be compared that of similar words,
such as tows, ‘no doubt,’ (1v. viii. 9)
ἔδει δ᾽ ἴσως καὶ σκώπτειν (κωλύειν) ;
σχεδόν, ‘nearly,’ ‘ something like,’ (1.
viii. 4) σχεδὸν γὰρ εὐζωία tis εἴρηται καὶ
εὐπραξία ; μάλιστα, ‘upon the whole,’
(τ. v. 2) τρεῖς γάρ εἰσι μάλιττα of

δος ἐπὶ τὸ γνωστόν.

344

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQON I.

*

[Cuar.

«καλῶς ἀπεφήναντο τἀγαθόν, οὗ πάντ᾽ ἐφίεται. 'διαφορὰ

/ ~ ~
δέ τις Φαίνεται τῶν τελῶν.

τὰ μὲν γάρ εἶσιν ἐνέργειαι,

τὰ δὲ παρ᾽ αὐτὰς ἔργα τινά. ὧν δ᾽ εἰσὶ τέλη τινὰ παρὰ
τὰς πράξεις, ἐν τούτοις βελτίω πέφυκε τῶν ἐνεργειῶν
τὰ ἔργα. πολλῶν δὲ πράξεων οὐσῶν καὶ τεχνῶν καὶ
ἐπιστημῶν πολλὰ γίνεται καὶ τὰ τέλη" ἰατρικῆς μὲν γὰρ
ὑγίεια, ναυπηγικῆς δὲ πλοῖον, στρατηγικῆς δὲ νίκη, olxovo-

,“μικῆς δὲ πλοῦτος.

σ J 9 ~ , ae, ,
οσαι ὃ εἰσι τον TOLOUTWY ὑπὸ μιὰν

προὔχοντες (βίοι). Such phrases arise
partly from Attic usage, partly from
the genius of Aristotle’s philosophy.
A similar hesitation or moderation of
statement is observable in his use of
interrogations; 6. g. (i. Vie 12) ἀλλ᾽
apd γε τῷ ἀφ᾽ ἑνὸς εἶναι; In such ques-
tions πότερον is very frequent, (1. vii.
11) Πότερον οὖν τέκτονος μὲν καὶ
σκυτέως ἐστὶν ἔργα τινὰ καὶ πράξεις ;
and ἤ, which generally introduces the
opinion to be preferred, J. /. ἢ καθάπερ
ὀφθαλμοῦ---οὕτω καὶ ἀνθρώπου παρὰ
πάντα ταῦτα θείη τις ἂν ἔργον τι; Also
ἤ frequently stands by itself, (1. vii.
1) τί οὖν ἑκάστης τἀγαθόν; ἢ οὗ χάριν
τὰ λοιπὰ πράττεται ;

διὸ καλῶς--ἐφίεται] ‘ Hence people
have well defined the good to be, that:
at which all things aim.’ This same
definition is mentioned in the Rhétoric,
τ. vi. 2, 1 vii. 3. It is of uncertain
authorship. At first sight its intro-
duction here appears parenthetical ;
but rather it constitutes a sententious
way of opening the subject. ‘All we
do aims at good, the very idea of
good is that which is aimed at. But
among ends (or aims) there is a subor-
dination of one to the other?

2 τὰ μὲν γὰρ---ἔργα τινά] ‘For
sometimes the end consists in the
exercise of a faculty for its own sake, at
other times in certain external results
beyond this.’ Strictly, according to
the Aristotelian system, to speak of

an Ἐνέργεια not containing its end in
itself is a contradiction in terms.
But in a subordinate and relative
sense, just as some τέλη are also
means to ulterior ends, so some funec-
tions may be called ἐνέργειαι, which
are also mere γενέσεις of external re-
sults; cf. Metaphysics, x. ix, 11, and
see Essay IV. p. 186.

4 ὅσαι δ᾽ εἰσὶ---διώκεται] ‘ Now all
such operations as fall under some one
faculty, as under riding, bridle-making,
and all other manufactures of the in-
struments of riding ; while this again,
and every warlike operation, falls
under strategy; and so (δή) in the
same way, other operations under
some different faculty—in all, I say
(δέ), the ends of the master faculties
are more excellent than all those that
are subordinate, for, for the sake of the
former, the latter are sought after.’
This sentence exhibits many of the
peculiarities of Aristotle—(1) the in-
definiteness of ὅσαι. Cf. a similar in-
definiteness as to the substantive re-
ferred to in Περὶ αὐτῆς (Eth. τ. viii. 1).
It would be most natural to supply to
the first ὅσαι the word πράξεις, to the
second the word réx:a. But τέχνη
and πρᾶξις are not here sharply distin-
guished, as appears by the words πολε-
μικὴ πρᾶξις, (2) Δύναμις is here used
in a sense from which the modern
application of the word ‘faculty’ to
law and medicine, &c., has been de-

»

ἘΞῚ 3 ΤΊ

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQN I.

84

Ν “ , ε \ \ « Ἁ ε \
τινὰ δύναμιν, καθάπερ ὑπὸ τὴν ἱππικὴν ἡ χαλινοποιικὴ καὶ
“ ΕΣ “ ~ > / / a ~
ὅσαι ἄλλαι τῶν ἱππικῶν ὀργάνων εἰσίν" αὕτη δὲ καὶ πᾶσα

πολεμικὴ πρᾶξις ὑπὸ τὴν στρατηγικήν"

\ 2% Ἁ
τὸν αὐτὸν δὴ

Ul ~
τρόπον ἄλλαι OD’ ἑτέρας. ἐν ἁπάσαις δὲ τὰ τῶν ἀρχιτε-.

~ Ἁ "A ~ Me
κτονικῶν τέλη πάντων ἐστὶν αἱρετώτερα τῶν ὑπ᾽ αὐτά"

τούτων γὰρ χάριν κἀκεῖνα διώκεται. διαφέρει δ᾽ οὐδὲν ὁ

\ > 4 > A i \ / ~ , & Ἂ Ν
τὰς ἐνεργείας αὐτὰς εἶναι τὰ τέλη τῶν πράξεων ἢ παρὰ
ταύτας ἄλλο τι, καβάπερ ἐπὶ τῶν λεχθεισῶν ἐπιστημῶν.

ΕἸ δή τι τέλος ἐστὶ τῶν πρακτῶν ὃ δ αὑτὸ βουλόμεθα, 2
τἄλλα δὲ διὰ τοῦτο, καὶ μὴ πάντα OF ἕτερον αἱρούμεθα

rived, through the term facultas, which
was used by the Schoolmen. This
belongs to the associations connected
with δύναμις in Aristotle’s metaphysi-
eal system. The use of this word
for ‘an art’ appears, though less dis-
tinctly, in Plato. Aristotle, opposing
δύναμις to ἐνέργεια, treats the arts as
a class of δυνάμεις, ὃ. 6. certain capa-
bilities of action; though they dif-
fered from other δυνάμεις in being them-
selves not only developed into évép-
γειαι, but also formed out of them: ef.
Eth, 1. i. 4, Metaph. vm. v. 1, and
see Essay Iv. p. 190. (3) δέ ἴῃ ἐν
ἀπάσαις δέ is used to mark the
apodosis. This is common in Ari-
stotle, ef. Eth. vu. iv. 5, X. ix. 11.
Looking to the protasis ὅσαι, we must
also say that the sentence is an ana-
coluthon, The whole style might be
called a σχῆμα πρὸς τὸ σημαινόμενον.
(4) The adjective ἀρχιτεκτονικός, as
applied to the ‘hierarchy’ of the
sciences, is not found in writers before
Aristotle. The metaphor implied by
it may have been suggested by Plato ;
ef. Politicus, p.259 B: καὶ yap ἀρχιτέ-
κτων γε πᾶς οὐκ αὐτὸς ἐργατικός, ἀλλὰ
ἐργατῶν ἄρχων. The architect con-
ceives the design, the labourers carry
out the details: the former is con-
cerned with the end, the latter with the
means.

In like manner the higher

arts and sciences subject to themselves
the lower; cf. Eth. τ. ii. 7, v1. viii. 2.

5 διαφέρει δ᾽ --- ἑπιστημῶν] ‘But it
makes no difference (to our argument)
whether the development of faculties.
be in itself the end of the different
actions, or something beyond this
again, as in the case of the arts above
mentioned,’ ὁ.6. the principle of sub-
ordination in the scale of means and
ends will not be affected by the fact
that ἐνέργειαι are ends as well as ἔργα.
In taking a walk, the end is walking
for its own sake, ¢.¢., an ἐνέργεια. In
house-building, the end is the house,
an external result, or ἔργον. But
walking may again be viewed as sub-
ordinate to some other end, e.g. health
or life, just as the house is.

ἐπιστημῶν] When speaking strictly
(Eth, τι. iii. 9), and in his later ter-
minology, as represented by Eudemus
(Eth, v1. iii. 1), Aristotle distinguishes
between ἐπιστήμη and τέχνη. But
he frequently uses the former indis-
criminately with the latter (ef. Eth. 1.
vi. 15), as also Plato had done, ef.
Philebus, p. 57 8, and as ‘science’ is
now in common language often used
for ‘ art.’

II. 1 Εἰ δὴ -- ἄριστον)] ‘If then
there is some end of action which we
wish for its own sake, while we wish

546 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I.

[ Cuap.

΄ δ Ν a 3 > 5) ud 3 “ ‘ 4
(πρόεισι γὰρ οὕτω γ᾽ εἰς ἄπειρον, WOT εἶναι κενὴν καὶ

ματαίαν τὴν ὄρεξιν), δῆλον ὡς τοῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη τἀγαθὸν καὶ τὸ

γ7
αριστον.

- 9 y \ \ \ ε “ » ~
ap οὖν καὶ πρὸς τὸν βίον ἡ γνῶσις αὐτοῦ

/ 3 « 7 \ , A \ »”
2 μεγάλην ἔχει ῥοπήν, καὶ καθάπερ τοξόται σκοπὸν ἔχοντες,
~ ΩΝ ~
3p.arnroy av τυγχάνοιμεν τοῦ δέοντος ; εἰ δ᾽ οὕτω, πειρατέον

all other things only as a means to
this—and if we do not choose all
things merely as means to something
beyond (since in that case it will go
on to infinity, so that our desire will
be empty and useless), it is plain that
this end of action must be the chief
good and the best.’ This sentence
contains the ‘ punctum saliens’ of the
whole argument on which the Ethics
are based. But from the undogmatie
way in which it is expressed itis ren-
dered at first sight obscure. It might
be put thus: We have desires, these
cannot be in vain; hence we cannot
always be desiring means. There
must be some end which is never a
means, and which constitutes the
true object of desire.

τέλος τῶν πρακτῶν] This is em-
phatic. Aristotle is not enquiring
after a transcendental good, like the
Platonic Idea, but after a good at-
tainable in action. τὰ πρακτά im-
ples the whole class and sphere of
means and ends which fall under the
control of human will. A sort of
scholium upon this word is to be
found in the Eudemian Ethics, τ.
Vii. 4.

πρόεισι γὰρ οὕτω Ὑ εἰς ἄπειρον
The opposite and correlative terms
ἰέναι εἰς ἄπειρον and ἵστασθαι are
used with various nominatives in
Aristotle, and sometimes, as here,
impersonally. Cf. Eth. τ. vii. 7, εἰς
ἄπειρον πρόεισιν. VI. viii. 9, στήσεται
γὰρ κἀκεῖ,

ὥστ᾽ εἶναι κενῆν, «.7.A.] Aristotle

applies here to the human mind and

to the human desires his principle of
universal import, οὐδὲν ἀτελὲς ποιεῖ ἣ
φύσις. As everything in nature has
its proper end, so too has human de-
sire. There must therefore be some
absolute good, desirable for its own
sake, towards which our life ought to
be directed.

2 Gp’ obv—B8dovros]| ‘ Must it not be,
then, that for the conduct of life the
knowledge of the good is of weighty
influence, and that, like archers who
have a mark to aim at, we shall be
more likely to attain the requisite?’
Cf. Rhet. τ. v. 1: Σχεδὸν δὲ καὶ ἰδίᾳ
ἑκάστῳ καὶ κοινῇ πᾶσι σκοπός τίς ἐστιν,
οὗ στοχαζόμενοι καὶ αἱροῦνται καὶ φεύ-
γουσιν.

μᾶλλον] i.e, ‘more than if we lived
at haphazard without knowledge of
the true end to be aimed at.’ The
metaphor of the archers comes from
Plato; cf. Repub. p. 519 B: ἀνάγκη
μήτε τοὺς ἀπαιδεύτους ἱκανῶς ἄν ποτε
πόλιν ἐπιτροπεῦσαι, μήτε τοὺς ἐν
παιδείᾳ ἐωμένους διατρίβειν διὰ τέλους,
τοὺς μὲν ὅτι σκοπὸν ἐν τῷ βίῳ οὐκ
ἔχουσιν ἕνα, οὗ στοχαζομένους δεῖ
ἅπαντα πράττειν ἃ ἂν πράττωσιν ἰδίᾳ
τε καὶ δημοσίᾳ, τοὺς“ δὲ, κιτ.Ἀ,

τοῦ δέοντος] not ‘our duty’ in the
modern sense, this conception not
having been as yet developed, but
more generally ‘what we ought to do’
from any motive. The word δέον was
a received term with reference to
moral subjects. Cf. Plato’s Repub. p.
336 p, where Thrasymachus, calling
upon Socrates to define justice, says,
‘Mind you don’t tell me that it is the

— δ

17

HOIKQN ΝΙΚΟΜΑΧΕΙΩΝ I.

847

, ~ Yet , 3. ἢ \ \ , ~
TUTM γε περιλαβεῖν αὑτὸ Th ποτ΄ ἐστὶ καὶ τίνος τῶν

ἐπιστημῶν ἢ δυνάμεων.

δόξειε δ᾽ ἂν τῆς κυριωτάτης καὶ

’ ~ ’
μάλιστα ἀρχιτεκτονικῇς" τοιαύτη δ᾽ ἡ πολιτικὴ φαίνεται. 5

δέον, or the ὠφέλιμον, or the λυσιτε-
λοῦν, or the κερδαλέον, or the ξυμφέρον.
Cf. also Charmides, p. 164 8, Xen.
Memorab. τ. ii. 22. But the exact
import of the term was not fixed.
Aristotle in the Topies, 11. 111. 4, men-
tions among the πολλαχῶς λεγόμενα,
Οἷον εἰ τὸ δέον ἐστὶ τὸ συμφέρον ἢ Td
καλόν.

4 εἰ δ᾽ οὕτω .---δυνάμεων] ‘ But if
this .be the case, we must endea-
vour to comprehend, in outline at all
events, what it is, and which of the
sciences or faculties it belongs to.’
Aristotle, proceeding tentatively to
work, does not ask, ‘What science
treats of the supreme end ?’—but ‘To
what science or art does its production
belong?’ He seems at first encum-
bered with Platonic associations—that
virtue is a science—that there is an
art of life, &c. Just as in a Platonic
dialogue, we might have found this
train of questions—‘ What is the sci-
ence of healing called ?’—Medicine.
‘What is the science of counting
called ?’— Arithmetic. ‘What then
is the science of the welfare of states
and individuals called ? ’—Politics.
So here Aristotle says, ‘Every art has
anend. There is some supreme end:
of what art then is it the end?’ Ac-
cordingly he starts with the impres-
sion that the present treatise is an
art rather than a science (cf. Eth. τ.
iii, 6, π. ii, 1). He speaks of his
present method aiming at the chief
good. (1. iii. 1) ‘H μὲν οὖν μέθοδος τού-
τῶν ἐφίεται πολιτική τις οὖσα. Cf.
I. iv. 1, τί ἐστιν οὗ λέγομεν τὴν πολι-
τικὴν ἐφιέσθαι. Afterwards (Eth, x.
ix. 1) he makes an imperfect separa-

tion between the scientific theory of

virtue and the practical attainment
of it.

4 δόξειε δ᾽ ἂν --- ἀρχιτεκτονικῆς}
‘Now it would seem to be the end of
that which is the most absolute, and
most of a master science.’ The word
κυριωτάτης seems used somewhat in-
definitely. Two trains of association
are-mixed up in it. κύριος means (1)
what is authoritative, what has con-
trol; cf. Hth. 1. x. 9, κύριαι εὐδαιμονίας.
(2) What has validity, especially the
validity of custom, what is established.
Cf. Poet. xxi. 5, 6, and Rhetor. mm,
li. 2, where κύριον ὄνομα stands for ‘a
word in its proper sense,’ opposed to
all uncommon turns and applications.
In Eth, vi. xiii. 1, κυρία ἀρετή is
‘ virtue in the full sense of the term,’
opposed to φυσικὴ ἀρετή, ‘a virtu-
ous disposition.’ th. vu. iii. 14,
τῆς κυρίως ἐπιστήμης εἶναι δοκούσης,
‘that which might properly be called
science. Hence τὸ κύριον comes to
mean that which is striking, charac-
teristic, and essential in a conception.
Cf. Eth. 1. vii. 13, κυριώτερον γὰρ
αὕτη δοκεῖ λέγεσθαι. 1x. ix. 7, Td δὲ
κύριον ἐν τῇ ἐνεργείᾳ. In the passage
above, κυριωτάτης seems partly to
mean ‘ most authoritative’ or ‘ abso-
lute,’ partly ‘that which is most
absolutely a science.’

5 τοιαύτη δ᾽ ἣ πολιτικὴ φαίνεται]
Plato generally represents virtue as ἃ
science, and politics as inseparable
from dialectic or metaphysics. In
the Euthydemus, however, (p. 291 8)
he describes politics as the supreme
art, in terms from which the present
passage is obviously borrowed. See
Essay III, p. 140. Aristotle says that
all the other arts and faculties, how-

548

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQN I.

[Cuar.

6 τίνας γὰρ εἶναι χρεὼν τῶν ἐπιστημῶν ἐν ταῖς πόλεσι, καὶ
ποίας ἑκάστους μανθάνειν καὶ μέ Xe! τίνος, αὕτη διατάσσει.
ὁρῶμεν δὲ καὶ τὰς ἐντιμοτάτας τῶν δυνάμεων ὑ ὑπὸ ταύτην

7 οὔσας, οἷον στρατηγικήν, οἰκονομικήν, ῥητορικήν. χρωμένης
δὲ ταύτης ταῖς λοιπαῖς πραρετιραῖς τῶν ἐπιστημῶν, ἔτι δὲ

νομοθετούσης τί δεῖ πράττειν καὶ τίνων ἀπέχεσθαι, τὸ

ταύτης τέλος περιέχοι ἂν τὰ τῶν ἄλλων, ὥστε τοῦτ᾽ ay

8 εἴη τἀνθρώπινον ἀγαθόν.

εἰ γὰρ καὶ ταὐτόν ἐστιν ἑνὶ καὶ

πόλει, μεῖζόν γξ καὶ τελεώτερον. τὸ τῆς πόλεως Φαίνεται
καὶ λαβεῖν καὶ σώζειν ἀγα πητὸν μὲν γὰρ καὶ ἑνὶ μόνῳ,

ο καίλλιον δὲ καὶ θειότερον ἔθνει καὶ πόλεσιν.

ε Ν Ψ
7) μὲν οὖν

μέθοδος τούτων ἐφίεται, πολιτική τις οὖσα"

ever dignified, are subordinate to this
(ὑπὸ ταὐτην) and are its instruments
(χρωμένης ταύτης ταῖς λοιπαῖς). Their
very existence depends on the fiat of
politics (τίνας εἶναι χρεὼν διατάσσει).
Hence, as all others are means to it,
the end of politics must embrace the
ends of all the other arts. Politics
will be the art whose end is the chief
human good.

8 εἰ γὰρ καὶ ταὐτὸν---πόλεσιν ‘For
even supposing the chief good to be
identical for an individual anda state,
that of the state appears at all events
something greater and more absolute
(τελεώτερον) both to attain and to
preserve. Even for an individual by
himself it is indeed something one
might well embrace with gladness,
but for a nation and for states it is
something more noble and divine,’
The identity of the end for states and
individuals is a principle on which
would depend the relation of Morals
to Politics, and to some extent that of
Church to State. See Essays, Appen-
dix C. In Aristotle’s Politics (vu. iii.
8) the chief good, or end-in-itself, for
a state is portrayed as consisting in
the development and play of specu-

lative thought, all fit conditions and
means thereto being implied and pre-
supposed. To this high, but inde-
finite, ideal, the term θεῖον would be
naturally applied. Like the word
‘divine’ with us, θεῖος is used by
Aristotle to express the highest kind
of admiration, tinctured with a feeling
of enthusiastic joy, but also with some
degree of vagueness. It is especially
applied to the inner consciousness of
the reason; cf. Eth. x. vii. 1, (νοῦς
ἐστὶ) τῶν ἐν ἡμῖν τὸ θειότατον : also
to happiness (Zth. τ. ix. 3), which, if
not θεόπεμπτον, is at all events τῶν
θειοτάτων : also to the constituent
parts of the Cosmos (Z¢th. vi. vii. 4),
which are said to be diviner than
man.

9 πολιτική τις οὖσα] Aristotle has
not yet arrived at the conception of
Ethics as a separate science. He
still, following Plato, identifies it with
politics, or makes it ‘a kind of poli-
ties.’ By his treatment however of
the questions of Ethics he prepared
the way for its separation from poli-
tics, which indeed was partly made
by Eudemus, and afterwards gies
by the Stoies.

11.—III.]

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1.

549

, 4. ιἰϑὦν ὁ ~ 3 Ν \ ε , [χε
Λέγοιτο δ᾽ ἂν ἱκανῶς, εἰ κατὰ τὴν ὑποκειμένην ὕλην δια-3
“ Ν \ > , [τέ ~
σαφηθείη" τὸ yap ἀκριβὲς οὐχ ὁμοίως ἐν ἅπασι τοῖς λόγοις
ἐπιζητητέον ὥσπερ οὐδ᾽ ἐν τοῖς δημιουργουμένοις. τὰ δὲ καλὰ
/ ~ ὦ A ~
καὶ τὰ δίκαια, περὶ ὧν ἡ πολιτικὴ σκοπεῖται, τοσαύτην ἔχει
διαφορὰν καὶ πλάνην ὥστε δοκεῖν vow μόνον εἶναι, duces
. 7) ..-.--.----- .«“.» aa " ?

Ill. In connexion with every
science, Aristotle never fails to pay
attention to the logic of science,—to
ask what the proper method of the
science ought tobe. In Ethics, where
he is entirely feeling his way, without
predecessors to guide him, it was
especially natural that he should make
a pause to enquire what is the pro-
per form and logical character of
the science on which he is entering.
Accordingly we find three digressions
relative to the logic of Ethics in this
first book. (1) In the present chapter
he decides that it cannot be an exact
science. (2) Chapter 4th, § 5—-7, he
declares, though not dogmatically, that
it must be rather inductive, than based
on @ priori principles. (3) In chap-
ter 7th, § 17—21, not quite consist-
ently with the last assertion, he dwells
upon the importance, for the future
development of the science, of the
principle (ἀρχή) which he has evolved
in his definition of the chief good ;
which principle is henceforth to be
applied to the elucidation of all diffi-
culties in detail. See Essays, Appen-
dix A.

1 λέγοιτο δ᾽ ἂν ixavas—Snuoupyov-
μένοι] ‘Now we must be safisfied
with the statement of our science, if
its distinctness be in proportion to the
nature of the subject matter. For
exactness is not to be expected equally
in all reasonings, any more than in the
productions of art.’ Matter as op-
posed to form was called by Aristotle
ὕλη, or τὸ ὑποκείμενον, that which
underlies the form. Cf. Pol. 1. viii. 2:

Λέγω δὲ ὕλην τὸ ὑποκείμενον e οὗ τι
ἀποτελεῖται ἔργον, οἷον ὑφάντῃ μὲν
ἔρια, ἀνδριαντοποιῷ δὲ χαλκόν. The
matter of a science, 7. 6. the facts or
conceptions with which it deals, must
determine its method or form, accord-
ing as they admit of being stated with
more or less ἀκρίβεια. It is one of
the first questions about a science,
how much ἀκρίβεια it admits: ef. De
Anima, τ. i. 1; Metaphys. a! ἔλαττον,
iii. 2, &c. On the different shades
of meaning implied in the word
ἀκρίβεια, see below, 1. vii. 18, note.
It combines the notions of mathe-
matical exactness, metaphysical sub-
tlety, minuteness of detail, and
definiteness of assertion. Also as
applied to the arts (ἐν τοῖς δημιουρ-
γουμένοις) it denotes finish or delicacy.

2 τὰ δὲ καλὰ---μή] ‘But things
beautiful and just, about which the
political sciénce treats, exhibit so
great a diversity and uncertainty that
they are thought to exist by convention
only, and not by nature.’ Nothing can
be more characteristic of Greek mo-
rality than these words, ‘the beautiful’
and ‘the just,’ applied to sum up all
that we should call ‘the right.’ The
former is the more enthusiastic term,
and is connected with all the artistic
feelings of the Greeks. In the present
passage we may notice two indications
of the immaturity of Aristotle’s ethical
system. (1) He speaks of Politics as
the science treating of right action.
(2) He seems to accept for the mo-
ment, as at all events worth consi-
dering, the scepticism of the Sophists,

390 HOIKON NIKOMAXEIQON 1. [Cuap,

NA »
δὲ μή. τοιαύτην δέ τινα πλάνην ἔχει καὶ τἀγαθὰ διὰ τὸ
~ / ~ LA /
πολλοῖς συμβαίνειν βλάβας am αὐτῶν" ἤδη yap τινες
> (4 > ~ σ Ν ι΄ ἂν ὦ, , » \
ἀπώλοντο Ob πλοῦτον, ETELOL δὲ δὶ ἀνὸρείαν. ἀγαπητον

Ψ “-
οὖν περὶ τοιούτων καὶ ἐκ τοιούτων λέγοντας παχυλῶς καὶ
if ’ Ν bd / \ 4 ~ ε aS" Ν \
τύπῳ τἀληθὲς ἐνδείκνυσθαι, καὶ περὶ τῶν ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολὺ
καὶ ἐκ τοιούτων λέγοντας τοιαῦτα καὶ συμπεραίνεσθαι. τὸν
/ Ἀ ~
αὐτὸν δὲ τρόπον καὶ ἀποδέχεσθαι χρεὼν ἕκαστον τῶν λε-
/ ~
γομένων' πεπαιδευμένου yap ἐστιν ἐπὶ τοσοῦτον τἀκριβὲς

and to start accordingly with an em-
pirical point of view about moral dis-
tinctions, which in reality his subse-
quent procedure entirely sets aside.—
νόμῳ μόνον εἶναι, φύσει δὲ uh. On the
position of this opinion in the history
of philosophy, see Essay II.

3 τοιαύτην δέ τινα πλάνην ἔχει καὶ
τἄγαθά] ‘And things good also ex-
hibit a similar sort of uncertainty.’
The two leading questions of morals
may be said to be, what is right? and
what is good? The ancient Ethics
rather tend to absorb the former into
the latter, the modern systems vice
versa. Aristotle here, from his present
empirical ground, says there is an
equal uncertainty about things good,
as about things right. Cf. Eth. v.i. 9;
Xen. Mem. rv. 11. 34.

4, 5 ἀγαπητὺν οὖν---πεπαιδευμένος]
‘We must be content then, while
speaking on such subjects, and with
such premises, that the truth should
be set forth roughly and in outline,
and, as we are reasoning about and
from things which only amount to
generalities, that our conclusions
should be of the same kind also. In
the same way must each particular
statement be received. The man of
cultivation will in each kind of subject
demand exactness so far as the nature
of the thing permits: for it appears
equally absurd to accept probable rea-
soning from a mathematician and to

demand demonstration from an orator.
Every one judges well of things which
he knows, and of these he is a good
critic. In particular subjects then the
man of particular cultivation will
judge, and in general the man of ge-
neral cultivation.’

περὶ τοιούτ. καὶ é τοιούτ.] A com-
mon formula in Aristotle. Cf. Rhetor.
τιν 1, ἢ

γένος is with Aristotle the object
of a single science ; μία ἐπιστήμη ἐστὶν
ἡ ἑνὸς γένους (Anal. Post. τ. xxviii).
Cf. the whole of Met. τι. iii.

πεπαιδευμένου] In his preliminary
inquiries as to the right method of
different sciences, Aristotle generally
adds that it will be the office of παιδεία,
or the πεπαιδευμένος, to arbitrate on
the question. Παιδεία has of course
in these places a restricted sense. It
does not imply the cultivation of the
whole man, but a certain special cul-
tivation in relation to science, in short
much the same state of acquirement
as in modern times is expressed by the
name connoisseur. The chief passage
on this subject occurs De Partibus
Animal. τ. i. 1: περὶ πᾶσαν θεωρίαν
τε καὶ μέθοδον, ὁμοίως ταπεινοτέραν τε
καὶ τιμιωτέραν, δύο φαίνονται τρόποι
τῆς ἕξεως εἶναι, ὧν τὴν μὲν ἐπιστήμην
τοῦ πράγματος καλῶς ἔχει mpocaryo-
ρεύειν, τὴν δ᾽ οἷον παιδείαν τινά, Then
follow the characteristics of the πε-
παιδευμένος, which are said to be κρῖναι

IIL. ] HOEIKQN NIKOMAXEION I. 351

ἐπιζητεῖν καθ᾿ ἕκαστον γένος, ἐφ᾽ ὅσον ἡ τοῦ πράγματος

φύσις ἐπιδέχεται" παραπλήσιον γὰρ Φαίνεται μαθηματι-

κοῦ τε πιβθανολογοῦντος ἀποδέχεσθαι καὶ ῥητορικὸν ἀποδεί- fetridin sing
ἕξεις ἀπαιτεῖν. ἕκαστος δὲ κρίνει καλῶς ἃ γινώσκει, καὶ 5

΄ 3 \ > Ν ,
τούτων ἐστὶν ἀγαθὸς κριτής.

“ ε ~ 2 ε \ ~ ,
δευμένος, ἁπλῶς δ᾽ ὁ περὶ πᾶν πεπαιδευμένος.
-“ 3 ~ ᾽ ‘\ .
λιτικῆς οὐκ ἔστιν οἰκεῖος ἀκροατὴς ὃ νέος.

ἂ ὯΝ ΕΗ ε
καθ᾿ ἕκαστον ἄρα ὁ πεπαι-

διὸ τῆς πο--
ἄπειρος γὰρ

~ / , .
τῶν κατὰ τὸν βίον πράξεων, οἱ λόγοι δ᾽ ἐκ τούτων καὶ περὶ

΄
τούτων.

“ , > a
ἔτι δὲ τοῖς πάθεσιν axorovbytinds ὧν ματαίως 6

εὐστόχως τί καλῶς ἢ μὴ καλῶς ἀποδίδωσιν
6 λέγων. Thus the chief function of
this ‘cultivation’ is acute criticism.
It is critical as opposed to science,
which is productive. It will have cer-
tain standards (8pous) by reference to
which it will form a judgment on the
shape and manner of the propositions
presented, quite independently of their
truth and falsehood (ἀποδέξεται τὸν
τρόπον τῶν δεικνυμένων χωρὶς τοῦ πῶς
ἔχει τἀληθές, εἴτε οὕτως εἴτε ἄλλω).
This, which was a current popular
conception of παιδεία, Aristotle not
only accepts as related to all matters
of science (τὸν ὅλως πεπαιδευμένον----
περὶ πάντων ὡς εἰπεῖν κριτικόν τινα
voulfouev)—but also he adds ἃ refine-
ment on his own part by constituting
a special παιδεία in relation to each
separate science (περί τινος φύσεως
ἀφωρισμένης " εἴη γὰρ ἄν τις Erepts περὶ
ἕν μόριον). The idea of the πεπαιδευ-
μένος as a judge of method is to be
found in Plato. Cf. Timeus, p. 53 c:
ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἐπεὶ μετέχετε τῶν κατὰ “παί-
δευσιν ὁδῶν, δ ὧν ἐνδείκνυσθαι τὰ
λεγόμενα ἀνάγκη, ξυνέψεσθε. In the
Eraste, p. 135, a popular deseription
of the philosopher is given, exactly
answering to Aristotle’s πεπαιδευμένος,
Among the qualifications is mentioned
ὡς εἰκὸς ἄνδρα ἐλεύθερόν τε καὶ πεπαι-
δευμένον, ἐπακολουθῆσαί τε τοῖς λεγο-

μένοις ὑπὸ τοῦ δημιουργοῦ οἷόν τε εἶναι

διαφερόντως τῶν παρόντων. Socrates
on this remarks, that it makes the
philosopher like a Pentathlos,—é7a-
κρός τιξ, or second-best in all special-
ities.—We see in the present passage
Aristotle’s distinction of περὶ πᾶν -
πεπαιδ, from καθ᾽ ἕκαστον πεπαιδ, The
latter term shows that not only isa
general knowledge of logic (ἀναλυτική)
requisite to constitute παιδεία (cf. Me-
taph. τ. min, 111. τ, ut. iii. 5, mm. iv. 2);
but also that some acquaintance with
the special subject is requisite for the
connoisseur of that subject. Cf. Pol. τι:
xi, 11: Ἰατρὸς δ᾽ ὅ τε Syusovpyds καὶ
6 ἀρχιτεκτονικὺς καὶ τρίτος 6 πεπαι-
δευμένος περὶ τὴν τέχνην" εἰσὶ γάρ τινες
τοιοῦτοι καὶ περὶ πάσας ὡς εἰπεῖν τὰς
τέχνας, ἀποδίδομεν δὲ τὸ κρίνειν οὐδὲν
ἧττον τοῖς πεπαιδευμένοις ἢ τοῖς εἰδόσιν.
Cf. Eth. Hud. τ. vi. 6.

μαθηματικοῦ, «.7.A.] Taken from
Plato, ef. Theetetus, p. 162 Ἐ: εἰ ἐθέλοι
Θεόδωρος ἢ ἄλλος τις τῶν γεωμετρῶν
(τῷ εἰκότι) χρώμενος γεωμετρεῖν, ἄξιος
οὐδ᾽ ἑνὸς μόνου ἂν εἴη.
τε καὶ Θεόδωρος εἰ ἀποδέξεσθε πιθανο-
λογίᾳ τε καὶ εἰκόσι περὶ τούτων λεγο-
μένους λόγους.

ς διὸ τῆς πολιτικῆς, κιτ.λ.] From
a want of sufficient knowledge of the
special subjects to be treated, the youth
is not fit to be a hearer, 1.6. (1) critic,
(2) student of political science.

6 ἔτι δὲ---πρᾶξι5] ‘Nay,

a f
σκοπεῖτε οὖν σύ

more-

352 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQN 1. [ Cuar.

’ ’, ΟὟ, ~ “ \ 8, ’ > > ~
ἀκούσεται καὶ avwdeAws, ἐπειδὴ τὸ τέλος ἐστιν οὐ γνῶσις
2 ~ ¢ * Ν
γἀλλὰ πρᾶξις. διαφέρει δ᾽ οὐθὲν νέος τὴν ἡλικίαν ἢ τὸ
“ ᾽»᾿ Ν
ἦθος νεαρός" οὐ γὰρ παρὰ τὸν χρόνον ἡ ἔλλειψις, ἀλλὰ
διὰ τὸ κατὰ πάθος ζῆν καὶ διώκειν ἕκαστα. τοῖς γὰρ

, -“ ~
τοιούτοις ἀνόνητος ἡ γνῶσις γίνεται, καθάπερ τοῖς ἀκρα-
-“ \
Tew τοῖς δὲ κατὰ λόγον τὰς ὀρέξεις ποιουμένοις καὶ
sen, ne \ ue 27

8 πράττουσι πολυωφελὲς ἂν ely τὸ περὶ τούτων εἰδέναι. καὶ

\ Ν a2 ~ \ ~ > , Ν / 4
περι μεν ακροᾶτου, καὶ πὼς ἀποδεκτέον, καὶ τι προτιθέ-

μεθα, πεφροιμιάσθω τοσαῦτα.
4 Λέγωμεν δ᾽ ἀναλαβόντες, ἐπειδὴ πᾶσα γνῶσις καὶ

lf > § ~ A \ Pie 4 93 a /
προαίρεσις ἀγαθοῦ τινὸς ὀρέγεται, τί ἐστιν οὗ λέγομεν
Ἁ ! ’
τὴν πολιτικὴν ἐφίεσθαι καὶ τί τὸ πάντων ἀκρότατον

~ ~ > ~ 7 N ᾿ Ν τὰ ~
2TWY WPAaXT wy ἀγαθῶν. ονοματι μεν ουν σχεδὸν πὸ TwY

over, as he is given to follow his pas-
sions, he will hear uselessly and with-
out profit, since the end (of our
science) is not knowledge but action.’
Aristotle goes off into a digression
here, and adds that the youth will
not only be an incompetent, but also
an unprofitable, student, on account
of a moral disqualification in the
weakness of his will. This addition,
however, throws light on Aristotle’s
conception of his science. In saying
that ‘its end is action,’ we must not
suppose that Aristotle meant to imply
that it was ‘practical’ in the modern
sense, ὃ. 6. hortatory, as opposed to
philosophical. As before, he is view-
ing Politics as a sort of supreme art,
Cf. Eth, u. ii. 1.

ματαίως ἀκούσεται] Shakespeare had
seen the present passage quoted some-
where, and by a remarkable anachron-
ism he puts it into the mouth of Hector.
Cf. Troilus and Cressida, act τι. 86. 2.

‘Paris and Troilus, you have both-

said well:

And on the cause and question now
in hand

Have glozed—but superficially; not
much

Unlike young men, whom Aristotle
thought
Unfit to hear moral philosophy.’

7 ov γὰρ παρὰ τὸν χρόνον 7 ἔλλειψι5]
‘For the deficiency is not caused by
time” Cf. Thucyd. τ. 141, οὐ γὰρ mapa
τὴν ἑαυτοῦ ἀμέλειαν οἴεται βλάψειν.
Arnold compares παρά in this sense
with the English vulgarism, ‘all along
of” Cf. Eth. ut. v. 19, τι καὶ map’
αὐτόν.

IV. 1 Returning from a parenthe-
tical discussion of method, Aristotle
takes up (λέγωμεν δ᾽ avadaBédvres) the
original question, ‘What is it that
politics aims at, what is the highest
practical good?’ The original four
terms τέχνη, μέθοδος, πρᾶξις, mpoal-
ρεσις, are here reduced to two, γνῶσις
and προαίρεσις. In the latter πρᾶξις
is implied. And τέχνη is omitted as
falling under the practical powers in
man (cf, Eth, vi. ii. 5). Thus human
nature, which was before classified as
productive, scientific, and moral, is here
summed up as moral and intellectual.

2 There is a verbal agreement, but
under this an essential difference, be-
tween men as to their opinion of the

Iil.—IV. | HOIKON NIKOMAXEIQON 1. 353
’ e ~ \ . 3 , \ ε
πλείστων ὁμολογεῖται. τὴν γὰρ εὐδαιμονίαν καὶ οἱ
A \ ΄ ’ ᾿ “ ns
πολλοὶ καὶ οἱ χαρίεντες λέγουσιν, τὸ δ᾽ εὖ ζῆν καὶ τὸ εὖ
Ρ ~ > ~
πράττειν ταὐτὸν ὑπολαμβάνουσι τῷ εὐδαιμονεῖν. περὶ
δὲ ~ >> / i 3 3 4 ~ \ > € »
ὲ τῆς εὐδαιμονίας, τί ἐστιν, ἀμφισβητοῦσι καὶ οὐχ ὁμοί-
ε A ~ ~ ᾿ » ’ « κ ‘ ~
ὡς οἱ πολλοὶ τοῖς σοφοῖς ἀποδιδόασιν. οἱ μὲν γὰρ τῶν3
> ~ \ ~~ a ~
ἐναργῶν τι καὶ φανερῶν, οἷον ἡδονὴν ἢ πλοῦτον ἢ τιμήν,
ἄλλοι δ᾽ ἄλλο, πολλάκις OF καὶ ὁ αὐτὸς ἕτερον" νοσή-
Ν / , ~
σας μὲν yap ὑγίειαν, πενόμιενος δὲ πλοῦτον" συνειδότες
> ~ »
δ᾽ ἑαυτοῖς ἄγνοιαν τοὺς μέγα τι καὶ ὑπὲρ αὐτοὺς λέγοντας
5 ry y wv \ \ ἈΝ ~ 3 x
αὐυμάζουσιν. EVOL δ᾽ WOYTO παρὰ τὰ πολλὰταύῦτα ἀγαθὰ
” > e—§ a \ ~ ~ , >
ἄλλο τι καθ᾽ αὑτὸ εἶναι, ὃ καὶ τοῖσδε πᾶσιν αἴτιόν ἐστι

chief good. All use the same word,
‘happiness.’ They go a step beyond
this together, and say it consists in
‘living-well and doing-well.’ Any
further attempt at definition shows
the discrepancy of their notions. On
theories of the chief good, see Essay
IL. p. 66.

of πολλοὶ καὶ of xaplevres] ‘The
many and the refined.’ ᾿ This clas-
sifies the whole body of thinkers.
The many are opposed to the philo-
sophers (of σοφοί) and to the educated,
the refined, the few. This opposition
has always existed. It appears most
strongly in the philosophic isolation of
Heraclitus the ὀχλολοίδορος. It is a
natural distinction, since philosophical
views are not inborn, but acquired,
and imply education, leisure, deve-
lopment. That both classes, however,
are in a different way possessed of
the truth (wholly or partially), Aristotle
would always acknowledge. Cf,~Zth.
I. vill. 7.

εὖ πράττειν is an ambiguous phrase.
Inits usual acceptation it would rather
mean ‘faring-well’ than ‘ acting-well.’
It oceurs in the Gorgias of Plato, p.
§07 ¢, in a way which seems to contain
the transition between these two ideas
- πολλὴ ἀνάγκη, ὦ Καλλίκλεις, τὸ
σώφρονα, ὥσπερ διήλθομεν, δίκαιον ὄντ

καὶ ἀνδρεῖον καὶ ὅσιον ἀγαθὸν ἄνδρα
εἶναι τελέως, τὸν δὲ &yabby εὖ τε καὶ
καλῶς πράττειν & ἂν πράττῃ, τὸν δ᾽ εὖ
πράττοντα μακάριόν τε καὶ εὐδαίμονα
εἶναι, τὸν δὲ πονηρὸν καὶ κακῶς πράττοντα
ἄθλιον. Aristotle was at no pains to
solve theambiguity. Cf. Eth. νι. ii. 5.

3 of μὲν yap—éyabd] ‘For the one
class (i.e. the many) specify something
palpable and tangible, as, for instance,
pleasure, or wealth, or honour; in
short, different of them give different
accounts, and often the sameindividual
gives an answer at variance with
himself, for when he has fallen sick
he calls it health, but being poor
wealth; and when people are con-
scious of ignorance they look up with
admiration to those who say some-
thing fine and beyond their own
powers. On the other hand certain
(philosophers) have thought that be-
yond all these manifold goods there
is some one absolute good, which is
the cause to these of their being good.’
Ἔνιοι δέ corresponds to of μὲν γάρ.
‘Palpable and tangible’ are analogous
though not identical metaphors with
ἐναργῶν τι καὶ φανερῶν.

συνειδότεβ, κ- τ. A.] Consciousness
of ignorance makes people fancy wis-
dom to be the chief good.—So the

Paraphrast explains the passage.

AA

354 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1.

4 τοῦ εἶναι ἀγαθά.

[Cnap.

ἁπάσας piv οὖν ἐξετάζειν τὰς δόξας

, 93 “ ε \ A A ῇ μ
ματαιοότερον ἴσως ἐστίν, ἱκανὸν δὲ τὰς μάλιστα εἐπιπολα-
r. & “Ἃ ὃ / bd A , Ἁ 4 / >

σφουσας Ἢ ὁοκουσας EYELY τινὰ λογον. μὴ λανθανέτω
ew τ σεν , art pas, ~ > ~ Fe: ¢ 3-4
ἡμᾶς OTs διαφέρουσιν οἱ ἀπὸ τῶν ἀρχῶν λόγοι καὶ οἱ ἐπὶ

τὰς ἀρχάς"

ὁ ΄ ~ \ 7
εὖ yap καὶ Πλάτων ἠπόρει τοῦτο καὶ ἐζήτει,

΄ cas ~ > ΩΣ DS SES \ > / > « εν
πότερον ἀπὸ τῶν ἀρχῶν ἢ ἐπὶ τὰς ἀρχάς ἐστιν ἡ ὁδός,
~ ~ ~ a
ὥσπερ ἐν τῷ σταδίῳ ἀπὸ τῶν ἀθλοθετῶν ἐπὶ τὸ πέρας ἡ

ἀνάπαλιν.

» ’ Ν " » Ἁ ~ , ne
ADxTEOY μεν OUY ATO τῶν γνώριμων, TAUTA δὲ

ἄλλο τι καθ᾽ αὑτὸ εἶναι] This of
course relates to Plato’s theory of the
Idea.

4 ἱκανὸν δὲ---λόγον͵] ‘But it is
sufficient to examine the opinions most
in vogue, or that seem to have some
reason in them.’ A similar canon of
authority is given, Eth, 1. viii. 7.

ἐπιπολαζούσα5] ‘ Lying on the top,’
‘obvious.’ The original sense is found
in Hist. Anim. vu. ii. 17: Πονοῦσι
δὲ καὶ ἀπόλλυνται πολλάκις (al χελῶ-
ναι), ὅταν ἐπιπολάζουσαι ξηρανθῶσιν
ὑπὸ τοῦ ἡλίου " καταφέρεσθαι γὰρ πάλιν
οὐ δύνανται ῥᾳδίως. Hence ἐπιπολάζω
and ἐπιπόλαιος come to mean ‘ what is
current,’ ‘easily to be found” th.
IV. Vili. 4, ἐπιπολάζοντος τοῦ γελοίου,
‘meeting one at every turn:’ and in
the Axiochus which bears Plato’s name,
Pp. 369 D, ἐκ τῆς ἐπιπολαζούσης τὰ viv
Aeoxnveias. Rhet. τπ. x. 4, ἐπιπόλαια
γὰρ λέγομεν τὰ παντὶ δῆλα καὶ ἃ μηδὲν
δεῖ ξητῆσαι. Eth. Lud. ut. ii. 4, ἔστι
δ᾽ οὐ πάνυ γνώριμον τὸ πάθος οὐδ᾽ ἐπι-
πόλαιον. From this meaning to that
of ‘superficial’ is but a slight transi-
tion. Lv. 4, φαίνεται δ᾽ ἐπιπολαιότερον
εἶναι τοῦ ζητουμένου.

5 From hence to the end of the
chapter follows the second digression
on the method of ethics. The question
now is, whether the Science is to be
inductive or deductive, whether the
reasoning is to be ‘to principles,’ or
‘from principles.’ Aristotle gives a

qualified decision in favour of the
former of these alternatives.

εὖ γὰρ--- ἁπλῶς] ‘For Plato rightly
used to doubt and question whether
the way was from principles or to
principles, as, in the stadium, whether
from the judges to the goal, or reversely.
We must begin, at all events, with
things known, and these are of two
kinds; for some things are known to
us, and some absolutely.’ There is no
particular passage in the extant works
of Plato, which we can say is here
referred to. That at the end of Book
vi. of the Republic has a widely dif-
ferent scope. It does not compare
the Inductive with the Deductive Me-
thod, but describes dialectic as a pro-
gress up the ladder of hypotheses to
the idea of good, and a descent again
without any help from the senses, by
successive steps, which are ideas, and
are connected with the idea of ‘good.
The use of the word Πλάτων here
without the article shows that a per-
sonal reference to the philosopher is
intended (see note on Eth, στ. xiii. 3).
The use of the imperfect ἠπόρει shows
that the reference is general; when
Aristotle quotes from a particular pas-
sage in the Laws of Plato (£th. τι. iii.
2), he says ὡς 6 Πλάτων φησίν.

ταῦτα δὲ διττῶς" τὰ μὲν ἡμῖν, τὰ δὲ
ἁπλῶς} This 15 Aristotle’s favourite
division of knowledge, into things
‘relatively’ and things ‘absolutely’

i ii ii

eee

IV.] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I. 355

διττῶς" τὰ μὲν γὰρ ἡμῖν τὰ δ᾽ ἁπλῶς. ἴσως οὖν ἡμῖν y¢6
διὸ δεῖ τοῖς ἔθεσιν ἦχθαι
~ Ἀ Α ~ ‘ ὃ ’ Διο ~ ~
καλῶς τὸν περί καλῶν καὶ δικαίων καὶ OAWS τῶν πολιτικῶν
~ Ἁ a ~
ἀκουσόμενον ἱκανῶς. ἀρχὴ yap τὸ ὅτι" καὶ εἰ τοῦτο dai-7
ns πον 5
voITO ὠρκούντως, οὐδὲν προσδεήσει τοῦ διότι. ὁ δὲ τοιοῦ-
τος ἢ ἔχει ἢ λάβοι ἂν ἀρχὰς ῥαδίω ὦ δὲ μηδέτερο
ς ἢ ἔχει ἢ ν ἀρχὰς ῥᾳδίως. ᾧ δὲ μηδέτερον
> ~
ὑπάρχει τούτων, ἀκουσάτω τῶν Ἡσιόδου"

- ~ “
ἀρκτέον ἀπὸ τῶν ἡμῖν γνωρίμων.

- \ ΄ a ὅν ΄ a Α΄ Ltr Α
ουτὸς μὲν παναριστος ος auToc TavTa vonon, ft

pt 5
ἐσθλὸς δ᾽ αὖ κἀκεῖνος ὃς εὖ εἰπόντι πίθηται.

| y/ 6.
duy, [3 22 - 2

known. The former implies the know-
ledge of experience, as far as it de-
pends on the individual” perception ;
it is therefore concrete (ἐγγύτερον
τῆς αἰσθήσεως, Post. Analyt. τ. 11. 5)
while the latter is abstract (τὰ πορρώ-
tepov), but being independent of in-
dividual experience, it is absolute (τὰ
σαφέστερα τῇ φύσει καὶ γνωριμώτερα,
Phys. Ause. τ. i. 1). We must observe
that the distinction is not between
things relatively and absolutely ‘know-
able, but ‘known.’ The highest
truths are actually in themselves better
known than the phenomena of the
senses. This is said independently of
individual minds, and implies a refer-
ence to the impersonal and absolute
reason; when Aristotle speaks of the
universal being in itself more known
than the particular, this is as much
as to say it has a more real existence,
just as Plato said that the Ideas were
most true, while phenomena only par-
take of truth (μετέχει τῆς GAnGetas).

6 ἴσως οὖν---γνωρίμων])]ἡ ‘Perhaps
then we at all events must commence
with what we know.’ In a sort of
bantering way, which is not unusual
with him (cf. Eth. τ. ix. 3, Vill. vi. 4),
Aristotle seems to announce the prin-
eiple that personal experience must
be made the basis for a scientific
knowledge of morals. See Essays,
Appendix ἃ.

6—7 διὸ dei—fadiws] ‘Therefore
he should have been well trained in

his habits who is to study aright things
beautiful and just, and in short the
whole class of political subjects. For
the fact is a principle, and if the fact
be sufficiently apparent we need not
ask the reason. Now he who has
been well trained either has principles
already, or can easily obtain them.”
He returns to the qualifications of the
ἀκροατής. But here previous know-
ledge seems required in a different
way from that mentioned above (1. iv.
5). The object is here not κρίνειν τὰ
λεγόμενα, but ἐπίστασθαι.

ἀρχὴ γὰρ τὸ ὅτι)]͵ The same is re-
peated below (I. vii. 20). The term
ἀρχή appears to be used here am-
biguously. It may either mean a
starting-point, or a universal principle.
It seems to hover between those
meanings, and to express that a moral
fact has something at all events po-
tentially of the nature of a universal.
*Apxds (in § 7) is used definitely for

universal principles.

ὁ δὲ τοιοῦτος] 7.¢., ὃ καλῶς ἠγμένος-.
Such a one is in possession of moral
facts, which either stand already in
the light of principles, or can be at
once recognised as such on the sug-
gestion of the philosopher. In the
former case he will resemble Hesiod’s
πανάριστος, in the second case the
ἐσθλὸς ὃς εὖ εἰπόντι πίθηται. If he
ean neither discover nor recognise
principles, he is ἀχρήϊος ἀνήρ.

οὗτος μὲν, K. τ. A.] Hesiod, Works

AA2

356

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIOQON 1.

[ Cuap.

a , ee δι᾿ ’, oe a > ΄
ὃς δέ κε μήτ᾽ αὐτὸς γοέῃ pnt ἄλλου ἀκούων
ἐν θυμῷ βάλληται, ὁ δ᾽ αὖτ᾽ ἀχρήϊος ἀνήρ.

ε ~ \ \
5 Ἡμεῖς δὲ λέγωμεν ὅθεν παρεξέβημεν, τὸ γὰρ ἀγαθὸν
καὶ τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν οὐκ ἀλόγως ἐοίκασιν ἐκ τῶν βίων ὑπο-
, « Ν \ \ 7 \ id ΄ ὃ A
2 λαμβανειν" οἱ μὲν TOAAGL καὶ φορτικώτατοι THY ἡδονὴν, διὸ

\ \ > ~ δι ὦ 3 /
καὶ τὸν βίον ἀγαπῶσι ‘Tov ἀπολαυστικόν.

τρεῖς γάρ εἰσι

/ ε ~ \ \
μάλιστα οἱ προύχοντες, ὅ τε νῦν εἰρημένος καὶ ὃ πολιτικὸς

and Days, 291—295. After νοήσῃ in
the editions of Hesiod, in some MSS.
of the Ethics, and in the Paraphrase,
comes this verse, φρασσάμενος τά κ᾽
The
whole passage succeeds one quoted by
Plato, Repub. τι. 364.c; Legg. rv. 718
B; and by Xenophon, Memorab. τι. i.
20, on the difficulty of virtue. The
sentiment is borrowed by Livy, xxu.
xxix. Cf, Cicero pro Cluentio, ο. XXXI. ;
Soph. Antig. 720; Herod. vu. xvi.

ἔπειτα καὶ és τέλος How ἀμείνω.

V. 1 Ἡμεῖς δὲ---ὑπολαμβάνειν) ‘ But
to return from our digression,—since
people seem with reagon to form their
conceptions of the chief good and of
happiness from men’s lives,’ (se. ‘let
us examine these’). The ydp shows
that the above clause explains the
object of this chapter, which is, to
examine men’s opinions of the chief
good, in the concrete, by a criticism
of their lives. Men’s lives exhibit prac-
tically their ideas of what is desirable.

ἐκ τῶν βίων] Bios is the external
form, opposed to ζωή, the internal
principle of life. Thus βίος is ‘ line of
life,’ ‘ profession,’ ‘career.’ Cf. Eth. rx.
ix. 9, X. vi. 8; Plato, Repub. x. 618, 4
τὰ τῶν βίων παραδείγματα.

2 οἱ μὲν---θεωρητικό:}) ‘Now the
many and the vulgar (conceive) plea-
sure (the chief good), whence also
they follow the life of sensuality. For
the most prominent lives are on the
whole (μάλιστα) three in number, that
just mentioned, and the political life,

and thirdly the life of contemplation.’
With τὴν ἡδονὴν, ὑπολαμβάνουσι τἄγα-
θόν must be supplied, though it was
used in a different way in the sentence
before. The punctuation of Zell has
been adopted. Bekker places no stop
after ὑπολαμβάνειν, but ends the sen-
tence after ἡδονήν.

ἀπολαυστικόν] a word not occurring
in Plato, nor perhaps in any writer
before Aristotle.

τρεῖς yap, κ΄ τ. Δ. In the celebrated
metaphor attributed to Pythagoras
(ef. Cicero, Tusc, Disp. v. 3), the world
is compared to an Olympic festival,
in which some are come to contend,
for honour; others to buy and sell,
for profit ; the best of all, as spectators,
for contemplation. In Plato a similar
division occurs, Repub. rx. 581 οἱ
Διὰ ταῦτα δὴ Kal ἀνθρώπων λέγωμεν τὰ
πρῶτα τριττὰ γένη εἶναι, φιλόσοφον,
φιλόνεικον, φιλοκερδές ; κομιδῇ γε. This
passage appears to be alluded to in
the words at the opening of the
chapter, οὐκ ἀλόγως ἐοίκασιν ἐκ τῶν
βίων ὑπολαμβάνειν. The Paraphrast
explains Aristotle’s omission of the
life of gain by saying that ‘the seekers
both of pleasure and honour are wont
to amass money also.’ Plato, on the
contrary, says that pleasure and gain
are merely two forms of concupiscence.
The life of pleasure then was included
under Plato’s γένος φιλοκερδές, Ari-
stotle’s classification, which separates
these, is much more true to nature.
But the reason given by the Paraphrast

v.]

\ , ε ,
και τριτος 0 θεωρητικός.

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I.

357

of μὲν οὖν πολλοὶ παντελώῶς!3

» κι / / 4 /

ἀνδραποδώδεις φαίνονται βοσκημάτων βίον προαιρούμενοι,
, Ν , \ 4 \ ~ 3 ~ ἢ ,

τυγχάνουσι δὲ λόγου διὰ τὸ πολλοὺς τῶν ἐν ταῖς ἐξουσίαις

ὁμοιοπαθεῖν Σαρδαναπάλω.

ε Ν , \
οι δὲ χαρίεντες και πρακπκτι- 4

\ 7 ~ Ἁ “ Ν ~ f
κοὶ τιμὴν " τοῦ γὰρ πολιτικου βίου σχεδὸν τοῦτο τέλος.

/ > a ὦ Ud ~ 4
Φαίνεται δ᾽ ἐπιπολαιότερον εἶναι τοῦ ζητουμένου"

Ἁ » ~ nw nw > ~ , ,
yap εν τοις τιμῶωσι μᾶλλον εἶναι ἢ ἐν τῷ τιμωμένῳ, ταγα-
Ν be > “7 ͵ἾἮ: Ἷ = ΄ θ ww
Gov δὲ οἰκεῖον τι καὶ ὀυσαῷαιρετον εἶναι μαντευομεῦα. Ετι 5

is untenable. Aristotle omitted the
βίος xpnuariorhs, as he tells us pre-
sently, because, as not being purely
voluntary (Blaids τι5), it does not exhi-
bit a conception of happiness. Though
it may have many adherents, these
do not seek it spontaneously, as con-
taining happiness in itself.

3 of μὲν οὖν---αρδαναπάλῳ͵ The
life of sensuality is that which the
vulgar propose to themselves as their
ideal of happiness. This they would
pursue if they could obtain the ring of
Gyges (Plato, Repub. τι. p. 359, ©).
And though Aristotle repudiates it
immediately as vile and abject, yet he
places it on the scale (τυγχάνουσι λό-
you) because great potentates (πολλοὺς
τῶν ἐν ταῖς ἐξουσίαι5) show themselves
of the same mind as Sardanapalus,
thinking nought but sensuality ‘ worth
a fillip,’ while they have everything at
their disposal, and are of all men most

free to choose.
τς χυγχάνουσι λόγου] ‘They obtain
consideration,’ 7, 6. both in the eyes of
men in general, and also in the present
treatise. Of. Eth. x. vi. 3. <i

Σαρδαναπάλῳ] Cicero, in Tuse. Disp.
vy. xxxv. (cf. De Finibus, τι. xm.),
mentions the epitaph of Sardanapalus
as quoted by Aristotle. ‘Ex quo Sar-
danapali, opulentissimi Syrie regis,
error agnoscitur, qui incidi jussit in
busto : Ἴ
Hec habeo, que edi, queque exsatu-

rata libido

Hausit ; at illa jacent multa et pre-
clara relicta.

Quid aliud, ait Aristoteles, in bovis,
non in regis sepulero inscriberes?’
No such passage is to be found in
any of the extant works of Aristotle.

4 οἱ δὲ xaplevtes—réAos] ‘But the
refined and active conceive honour to”
be the chief good; for this may be
said to be (σχεδόν) the end of the
political life.’ of δέ answers to of μὲν.
πολλοὶ καὶ φορτικώτατοι. The desire
for honour is of course a higher instinct
than the desire for pleasure. It is
‘the last infirmity of noble minds.’
Honour is the price paid for political
service, the garland of the magistrate
and the statesman. Cf, Eth, v. vi. 7:
μισθὸς ἄρα τις δοτέος, τοῦτο δὲ τιμὴ
καὶ γέρας.

φαίνεται δ᾽.--μαντευόμεθα)]) ‘But it
appears too superficial for that which
we are in search of, for it seems to
rest more with the honourer than the
honoured; whereas we have a pre-
sentiment that the chief good must be
one’s own, and not in the power of
others to take away.’ Honour is evi-
dently a precarious advantage de-
pending on others. No labours or
merits could prevent its being with-
held by an ungrateful or unappreciat-
ing age.

μαντευόμεθα] A phrase worthy of
attention. It occurs again, vi. xiii. 4:
ἐοίκασι δὴ μαντεύεσθαί πως ἅπαντες
ὅτι ἣ τοιαύτη ἕξις ἀρετή ἐστιν, ἣ κατὰ

δοκεῖ Secperfeccal

358 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. [Cuap.

Ny 9 7 A ἧς ’ δ ’ ε A >
δ᾽ ἐοίκασι THY τιμὴν διώκειν, ἵνα πιστεύωσιν ἑαυτοὺς ἀγα-
\ ~ ~ ~ , ~ 4
θοὺς εἶναι" ζητοῦσι γοῦν ὑπὸ τῶν φρονίμων τιμᾶσθαι, καὶ
΄ ~ ~ s a ΄
παρ᾽ οἷς γιγνώσκονται, καὶ ἐπ᾿ ἀρετῇ" δῆλον οὖν ὅτι κατὰ
: / ~ BA
6 ye τούτους ἡ ορετὴ κρείττων. τάχα δὲ καὶ μᾶλλον ἂν τις
~ ~ , U , ‘
τέλος τοῦ πολιτικοῦ βίου ταύτην ὑπολάβοι: daiverou δὲ
> , \ Α͂ AN ~ \ ΓᾺΡ. θ ὶ 4 >
ATEASTTEDA καὶ αὐτὴ" OOXEL γὰρ ἐνδέχεσθαι καὶ κασευόειν
wv A 3 w ee ~ \ , \ X /
ἔχοντα τὴν ἐρετήν, ἢ ἀπρακτεῖν διὰ βίου, καὶ πρὸς τούτοις
κακοπαθεῖν καὶ ἀτυχεῖν τὰ μέγιστα" τὸν δ᾽ οὕτω ζῶντα
INA x > , > ‘ / ,
οὐδεὶς ἂν εὐδαιμονίσειεν, εἰ μὴ θέσιν διαφυλάττων. καὶ
“ ~ 5» ’
περὶ μὲν τούτων ἅλις" ἱκανῶς γὰρ καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἐχκυκλίοις

τὴν φρόνησιν. ΟἿ, also Rhet. τ. ΧΙ. Φ: | Past merits, or the passive possession
ἔστι γὰρ ὃ μαντεύονταί τι πάντες φύσει | of qualities, whose existence depends
κοινὸν δίκαιον καὶ ἄδικον. It is pro- | on the attestation of fame, cannot be
bably suggested by Plato, in whom | thought to constitute the chief good.
both μαντεύεσθαι and ἀπομαντεύεσθαι | Very different from this is ἐνέργεια
frequently occur; 6. g. Crat. 411 B: | κατ᾽ ἀρετήν, the consciousness of a
δοκῶ γέ μοι οὐ κακῶς μαντεύεσθαι ὃ καὶ | virtuous life.
νῦν δὴ ἐνενόησα, ὅτι, κ. τ. Δ. εἰ μὴ θέσιν διαφυλάττων] ‘ Unless
5—6 Moreover, honour is not only | defending a paradox.’ Θέσεις in de-
an insecure possession, but it seems | monstration are those unproyed prin-
not even desired for its own sake. It | ciples necessary to the existence of
is desired by men as an evidence of | each separate science, just as ἀξιώματα ᾿
their merits. Cf. Eth. vu. viii. 2, | are to the existence of reasoning in
where he says more at length that | general (Post. Analytics, τ. ii. 7), but
most men appear to seek honour κατὰ θέσεις in dialectic (the kind here
συμβεβηκός ; the many seek it at the | meant) are paradoxical positions rest-
hands of those in power, asan earnest | ing on the authority of some great
of future advantage; the good seek it | name; Topics, τ. xi. 4: θέσις δέ ἐστιν
from the excellent and from com- ὑὕὑπόληψις παράδοξος τῶν γνωρίμων τινὸς
petent judges, as a confirmation of κατὰ φιλοσοφίαν, οἷον, ὅτι οὐκ ἔστιν
their own opinion about themselves. | ἀντιλέγειν, καθάπερ ἔφη ᾿Αντισθένης,
Thus the consciousness of virtue is | «.7.A. The above paradox {ὅτι αὖ-
the end, to which honour isthe means, | tdpxns ἣ ἀρετὴ πρὸς τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν)
If virtue then be regarded as the end | wasone the Stoics afterwards ventured
of the political life, will this answer | to maintain. Cicero (Paradoxa 1.)
to the chief good? No, it falls short | defends it withrhetorical arguments—
of being a supreme end (a&reAcorépa | arguing the greatness of Regulus in
καὶ αὕτη). For it might subsist ina | his misfortunes, as though that were
life of absolute inaction, or of the | identical with his happiness.
heaviest misfortunes. And to call καὶ περὶ μὲν---αὐτῶν}] ‘But enough
this happiness would be paradoxical. on this subject, for it has been suffi-
ἔχοντα τὴν ἀρετήν] It isthe ἕξις | ciently discussed even in popular
τῆς ἀρετῆς, virtue regarded as a mere | philosophies.’ Cf. De Celo, 1. ix. 16:
quality, which Aristotle repudiates. | καὶ yap καθάπερ ἐν τοῖς ἐγκυκλίοις φιλο-

VJ

εἴρηται περὶ αὐτῶν"

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I.

359

re δ᾽ 5 4 c 4 ΄ 4
τρίτος δ᾽ ἐστὶν 6 θεωρητικός, meph7
οὗ τὴν ἐπίσκεψιν ἐν τοῖς ἑπομένοις ποιησόμεθα.

ὁ δὲ

’ Η ε ~ ~
χρηματιστὴς βίαιός τίς ἐστιν, καὶ ὁ πλοῦτος δῆλον ὅτι οὐ

σοφήμασι περὶ τὰ θεῖα πολλάκις προ-
φαίνεται τοῖς λόγοις ὅτι τὸ θεῖον
ἀμετάβλητον ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι πᾶν τὸ
πρῶτον καὶ ἀκρότατον, on which Sim-
plicius notes with regard to ἐγκυκλί-
ow—Gtiva καὶ ἐξωτερικὰ καλεῖν εἴωθε.
We may translate the passage, ‘ As
in the popular philosophical doctrines
about things divine, it is often set
forth in argument that the divine
must necessarily be unchangeable,
being the First and the Highest.’
(There seems to be something wrong
in the Greek text. Perhaps we should
read ὄν for way.) This evidently
refers to no work of Aristotle’s, but
to the common unscientific discourses
of men upon scientific subjects. So
above, it is intimated that the insuffi-
ciency of virtue for happiness had
been the subject of commonplace dis-
cussion. Ἐγκύκλιος is used three
times in the Politics of Aristotle to
express ‘that which belongs to the
daily round of life.’ Pol. 1. vii. 2,
τὰ ἐγκύκλια διακονήματα, ‘ daily duties
of servants ;’ cf. τι. v. 4, Tas διακονίας
τὰς ἐγκυκλίους : πε. ix. 9, χρησίμου δ᾽
οὔσης τῆς θρασύτητος πρὸς οὐδὲν τῶν
ἐγκυκλίων, “ Boldness is of no use for
every-day life.’ Hence the word comes
to mean ‘commonplace,’ ‘ popular,’
‘unscientific.’ Two other explanations
need only be mentioned to be rejected :
(1) Eustratius thinks that a poem of
Aristotle’s is meant, ending with the

same line with which it began—hence _

ealled Encyclic; (2) Julius Scaliger
refers us to two books, ᾿Εγκυκλίων, a’,
β΄, mentioned in the list of Diogenes
Laertius, v. 26.

7 τρίτος ὃ᾽---ποιησόμεθα] ‘Third
is the life of contemplation, about

which our investigation shall be made
hereafter. This promise is fulfilled
in Book x. We have here undoubted
proof of an idea of method, of a con-
structive whole; see Essay I.

8 ὁ δὲ χρηματιστή---- χάριν] ‘But
the life of gain is in a way compulsory,
and it is plain that wealth is not that
good we are in search of, for it is an
instrument and means to something
else.” With χρηματιστής understand
βίος. Lambinus finds in two MSS.
χρηματιστὴς Bios &Bids τίς ἐστι. This
is evidently a gloss. βίαιος is to be
explained by comparing the parallel
passage in Eth. Eudem. τ. iv. 2:
Διηρημένων δὲ τῶν βίων, καὶ τῶν μὲν
[οὐδ᾽] ἀμφισβητούντων τῆς τοιαύτης
εὐημερίας, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς τῶν ἀναγκαίων χάριν
σπουδαζομένων, οἷον τῶν περὶ τὰς τέχνας
τὰς φορτικὰς καὶ τῶν περὶ χρηματισμὸν -
καὶ τὰς βαναύσους-- τῶν δὲ εἰς ἀγωγὴν
εὐδαιμονικὴν ταττομένων τριῶν ὄντων.
‘ Now the lives of men being divided,
and the one class laying no claim at
all to this kind of good fortune, but
being devoted to the obtaining the
necessaries of life, as for instance those
engaged with mean arts and lucre and
sordid crafts; while the others, which
are ranked severally as in the enjoy-
ment of Happiness, are three in
number.’ Here οὐδ᾽ is restored by
the absolutely certain conjecture of
Bonitz. βίαιός τις exactly corresponds
with οὐδ᾽ ἀμφισβητούντων--- σπουδαζο-
μένων, and so it is understood by the
Paraphrast: καὶ ἔστι βίαιος. Οὔτε γὰρ
τὸ ἀγαθὸν διώκει, οὔτε πάνυ δοκεῖ
διώκειν. Ὅθεν οὐ πολλοῖς ἐστὶν ἐρα- ᾿
στός" ὀλίγοι γὰρ εἵλοντο πάσης τῆς ἐν
βίῳ σπουδῆς τέλος τὰ χρήματα ἔχειν.
It is to be taken in a passive, not an

tod err (hem

360

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I,

[ Cap.

τὸ ζητούμενον ἀγαθόν’ χρήσιμον yap καὶ ἄλλου χάριν.
διὸ μᾶλλον τὰ πρότερον λεχθέντα τέλη τις ἂν ὑπολάβοι"

ΟΦ» ς \ Ν > ~
OL αὑτὰ γὰρ ἀγαπᾶται.

! > ~~ 5 ~
φαίνεται δ᾽ οὐδ᾽ ἐκεῖνα"

καίτοι

πολλοὶ λόγοι πρὸς αὐτὰ καταβέβληνται.

6 Taira μὲν οὖν ἀφείσθω" τὸ δὲ καθόλου βέλτιον ἴσως

active sense. It is the opposite of
ἑκούσιος, meaning ‘forced,’ as in Eth.
mt. i. 3. It implies that no one
would devote himself, at the outset,
to money-making, except of necessity,
‘parce qu’il faut vivre. It assigns
the reason for not discussing the life
of gain. An additional and final
reason is subjoined—that wealth is a
mere means. Other and mistaken ex-
planations of this place are (1) that of
Eustratius. ‘The usurer is violent,’
ὅτι βίαν ἐνδείκνυται πρὸς τὸ κτήσασθαι.
The same has been adopted in the
Latin translations, where ‘ violentus’
is used. In Dante’s Inferno, Canto
XI., is a complete commentary on
this. Dante, who only knew Aristotle
in the Latin, but studied him much,
places usurers among ‘ the violent’ in
hell, and gives learned reasons for
this classification. (2) That of Gipha-
nius, who, rightly taking βίος to be
the omitted word, interprets ‘vita
nature contraria.’ It is true that in
several places βίαιος is opposed to
κατὰ φύσιν, and in such contexts
means ‘unnatural;’ Phys. Ause. rv.
ὙΠ]. 4, Vv. vi. 6; Politics, τ. iii. 4. But
without such a context, it cannot
simply stand for παρὰ φύσιν. Besides
it is not easy to see why the life of
gain, more than the life of ambition,
should be called ‘ unnatural.’
καίτοι---καταβέβληνται] The general
meaning is: ‘Although much has
been said to show that each of these
is the chief good, it has been unavyail-
ing. But a doubt remains as to the
precise force-of καταβέβληνται. Does
it mean, ‘have been wasted?’ or

simply ‘have been laid down, pro-
mulgated?’ This latter rendering is
confirmed by De Mundo, vi. 3: διὸ καὶ
τῶν παλαιῶν εἰπεῖν τινὲς προήχθησαν,
ὅτι πάντα ταῦτά ἐστι θεῶν πλέα...
τῇ μὲν θείᾳ δυνάμει πρέποντα κατα-
βαλλόμενοι λόγον, οὐ μὴν τῇ γε οὐσίᾳ.
By ἃ slight extension of meaning we
have in the Politics, καταβεβλημέναι
μαθήσεις (vit. ii. 6), καταβεβλημένα
παιδεύματα (vit. iii. 11), ‘ordinary,
usual, branches of learning.’

VI. Aristotle now proceeds to
examine, or rather to attack, Plato’s
doctrine of the Idea of Good. To
test the worth of this criticism be-
longs to a consideration of the entire
relation of Aristotle to the views of
his master. See Essay II. The ar-
guments used are as follows: (1) the.
Platonists allow that where there is
an essential succession between two
conceptions, these cannot be brought
under a common idea—but there is
such between different manifestations
of good, 6. g., the useful is an essen-
tially later conception. (2) If all
good be one, it ought to fall under
only one category, whereas it can be
predicated under all. (3) If it were
one, it would be treated of by only
one science. (4) The Idea is, after
all, only a repetition of the phenomena,
for with these it is really identical.
(5) Even the most essential and abso-
lute goods seem incapable of being
reduced to one idea. (6) It is more
natural to consider good an analogous
word, and to assign to it a nomina-
listic, rather than a realistic, unity.

V.—VL]

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION If.

361

ἐπισκέψασθαι καὶ διαπορῆσαι πῶς λέγεται, καίπερ προσάν-
τους τῆς τοιαύτης ζητήσεως γινομένης διὰ τὸ φίλους ἄνδρας

. ~ A
εἰσαγαγεῖν τὰ εἴδη.

δόξειε δ᾽ ἂν ἴσως βέλτιον εἶναι καὶ

ing 5 eee" ~ > , \ \ > ~ > ~
δεῖν ἐπὶ σωτηρίᾳ ye τῆς ἀληθείας καὶ τὰ οἰκεῖα ἀναιρεῖν,

ἄλλως τε καὶ Φιλοσόφους ὄντας"
, a re εὖ 5» ’
φίλοιν ὅσιον προτιμᾶν τὴν ἀληβειαν.

» ~ Α 3
ἀμῷοῖν γὰρ ὄντοιν
οἱ δὲ κομίσαντες z

(7) But however this may be, it is
plain that the Idea can have no rela-
tion to practical life, and therefore it
does not belong to ethics.

1 τὸ δὲ καθόλου--- ἀλήθειαν] ‘ But
perhaps it were better to consider the
Universal, and to ask what it means,
although the inquiry is made disagree-
able owing to the authors of the doc-
trine of ideas being our friends. Still
it is better and even incumbent on us,
where the safety of truth is concerned,
to sacrifice that which is nearest to
us, especially as we are philosophers.
For where both are dear, friends and
the truth, it is our duty to prefer the
truth.’ Td καθόλου---“ the universal ’—
is, of course, Plato’s idea of good.
The Idea was the universal element
in existence and in knowledge ; with-
out it, according to Plato, the parti-
cular could neither be, nor be known.
Still the use of the word καθόλου here
is remarkable, for it does not at all
distinctively belong to Plato’s system.
Aristotle also held the necessary ex-
istence of universals, only more as a
nominalist, saying that they were
κατὰ πολλῶν (predicable of particu-

lars), not παρὰ τὰ πολλά (existing |

independent of particulars). Cf. Post.
Anal. τ. xi. 1: Εἴδη μὲν οὖν εἶναι ἢ ἕν
τι παρὰ τὰ πολλὰ οὐκ ἀνάγκη εἰ ἀπό-
δειξις ἔσται, εἶναι μέν τοι ἐν κατὰ πολ-
λῶν ἀληθὲς εἰπεῖν ἀνάγκη ob γὰρ ἔσται
τὸ καθόλου ἂν μὴ τοῦτο ἧ.

καίπερ προσάντου")] The personal
feeling expressed by Aristotle towards
Plato, here as elsewhere, is in the

highest degree cordial. But in the
arguments used there is something
captious.

καὶ τὰ οἰκεῖα ἀναιρεῖν] Cf. Thue. τ.

41: ἐπεὶ καὶ τὰ οἰκεῖα χεῖρον τίθενται

φιλονεικίας ἕνεκα τῆς αὐτίκα.

ὅσιον προτιμᾶν τὴν ἀλήθειαν] This
is Plato’s own sentiment about Ho-
mer; Repub. x. p. 595 ©, GAN ob πρό
γε τῆς ἀληθείας τιμητέος ἀνήρ. He al-
so applies the word ὅσιον in a si-
milar context, Repub. τι. p. 368 B:
δέδοικα yap μὴ οὐδ᾽ ὅσιον ἦ παραγε-
νόμενον δικαιοσύνῃ κακηγορουμένῃ ἀπ-
αγορεύειν, K.T.A;

2. of δὲ κομίσαντε---- κατεσκεύαζον
‘Now they who introduced this
opinion used not to make ideas of
things of which they predicated
priority and posteriority, and hence
they constructed no idea of numbers.’

κομίσαντες] Cf. Top. vir. v. 6, κομί-
Govtes ἀλλοτρίας δόξας. The words
δόξαν ταύτην and ἐποίουν ἰδέας seem
used, as if purposely, to express an
arbitrary and fictitious system. With
the above οἵ. Metaph. τι. iii. 10: én
ἐν ois τὸ πρότερον καὶ ὕστερόν ἐστιν,
οὐχ οἷόν τε τὸ ἐπὶ τούτων εἶναί τι παρὰ
ταῦτα" οἷον εἰ πρώτη τῶν ἀριθμῶν ἣ
duds, οὐκ ἔστι τις ἀριθμὸς παρὰ τὰ εἴδη
τῶν ἀριθμῶν. Eth. Eudem. τ. viii. 8:
ἔτι ἐν ὅσοις ὑπάρχει τὸ πρότερον καὶ
ὕστερον, οὐκ ἔστι κοινόν τι παρὰ ταῦτα
καὶ τοῦτο χωριστόν" εἴη γὰρ ἄν τι τοῦ
πρώτου πρότερον. Πρότερον γὰρ τὸ
κοινὸν καὶ χωριστὸν διὰ τὸ ἀναιρουμένου
τοῦ κοινοῦ ἀναιρεῖσθαι τὸ πρῶτον. Οἷον
εἰ τὸ διπλάσιον πρῶτον τῶν πολλαπλα-

362

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I.

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σίων, οὐκ ἐνδέχεται τὸ πολλαπλάσιον
τὸ κοινῇ κατηγορούμενον εἶναι χωριστόν'
ἔσται γὰρ τοῦ διπλασίου πρότερον, εἰ
συμβαίνει τὸ κοινὸν εἶναι τὴν ἰδέαν.
Aristotle often remarks about Plato,
that he distinguished with regard to
number, making two species of it,
mathematical number, and transcen-
dental or ideal number. We may ask
of which kind of number it is here
asserted, that it contains priority and
posteriority, and therefore admits of
being brought under no one idea?
The answer is to be found, Arist.
Metaph. xu. vi. 7: Οἱ μὲν οὖν duporé-
ρους φασὶν εἶναι τοὺς ἀριθμοὺς, τὸν μὲν
ἔχοντα τὸ πρότερον καὶ ὕστερον τὰς
ἰδέας, τὸν δὲ μαθηματικὸν παρὰ τὰς
ἰδέας. It is the ideal numbers of
which Aristotle says that they stand
in essential and immutable succession
to and dependence on each other, and
therefore can be brought under no
common idea. Hence the mention of
the δυάς and the διπλάσιον in the
above-quoted passages, which refer to
the Platonic doctrine of the δυὰς
ἀόριστος, which by union with the one
becomes 4 πρώτη δυάς, the first actual
number, This dvds is itself the first
idea of all number, there can be no
idea of it. (Cf. Met. xu. vii. 18
544.) In some cases the ideas are
identical with the manifestations of
those ideas. Cf. Metaph. vi. xi. 6:
καὶ τῶν τὰς ἰδέας λεγόντων of μὲ
αὐτογραμμὴν τὴν δυάδα, οἱ δὲ τὸ εἶδος
τῆς γραμμῆς" ἔνια μὲν γὰρ εἶναι ταὐτὰ

τὸ εἶδος καὶ οὗ τὸ εἶδος, οἷον δυάδα καὶ
τὸ εἶδος δυάδος. ;
παραφυάδι----ὄντος] ‘ For this may be
compared to an offshoot and accident
of substance.’ Of. Rhet. τ. ii. 7, συμ-
βαίνει τὴν ῥητορικὴν οἷον παραφυές τι
τῆς διαλεκτικῆς εἶναι, Aristotle argues
that the relatively good (ἐν τῷ πρός
τι) must be a sort of deduction from
the substantively good (ἐν τῷ τί ἐστι),
therefore posterior to it in thought,
and therefore incapable of being
brought under a common idea.

3 ἔτι ἐπεὶ τἀγαθὺν---τῷ ὄντι---δῆλον
-- μόνῃ] ‘Again, since the good is
predicated in just as many ways as
existence is, it plainly cannot be a
common universal, or a unity, else
it would not have been predicated in
all the categories, but in one alone.’
Good cannot be one, because it is
predicated in all the categories. This
is a logical, not a metaphysical test of
Plato’s doctrine. That Aristotle made
ten categories—that these were me- _
physical swmma genera, or an ulti-
mate classification of all existence, is
rather a deduction from his philoso-
phy than what he had actually ar-
rived at.- The Categories with Ari-
stotle were a classification of the
modes of predication, and the number
ten seems by no means fixed. The
so-called book of the ‘ Categories’ is
in all probability not from the
hand of Aristotle himself, but it
shows a tendency in the Peripatetic
school to merge the logical into

VI] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. 363

ὄντι (καὶ yap ἐν τῷ τί λέγεται, οἷον 6 θεὸ ὶ ὁ νοῦ ὶ
ὄντι (καὶ γὰρ ἐν τῷ γεται, οἷον ὃ θεὸς καὶ ὃ νοῦς, καὶ
> ~ ~ > / > ~ “ A
ἐν τῷ ποιῷ αἱ ἀρεταί, καὶ ἐν τῷ ποσῷ τὸ μέτριον, καὶ ἐν
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~ ~ e 3 [4
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θόν. ἀλλὰ μὴν οὐδὲ τῷ ἀίδιον εἶναι μᾶλλον ἀγαθὸν ἔσται, 6

εἴπερ μηδὲ λευκότερον τὸ πολυχρόνιον τοῦ ἐφημέρου.

7Τι-7

θανώτερον δ᾽ ἐοίκασιν οἱ Πυθαγόρειοι λέγειν περὶ αὐτοῦ,

a metaphysical classification. Cf.
Topics, τ. iv. 12.

4 There are many sciences of the
good, therefore it cannot be reduced
to unity.—This argument is certainly
unsatisfactory if applied to Plato’s
point of view. Plato would say dia-
lectie is the science of the Idea of
good, and in this all other sciences
find their meeting-point. Even of the
πρακτὸν ἀγαθόν it might be said that
according to Aristotle’s own account
it falls (in all its manifestations, whe-
ther as means or ends) under the one
supreme science—Politics.

5—6 ἀπορήσειε δ᾽ ἄν τις--ἐφημέ-
ρου] ‘Now one might be puzzled to
say what they. mean by an “‘absolute”
thing—if for instance in man and
absolute-man there is one and the
same conception of man. For gua
man they will not differ. If so, the
same will apply to good. Nor is it
any use to say that the absolute good
will be more good by being eternal,

since what is ever so old is not whiter
than that which lasts but a day.’
Aristotle brings against the idea an
accusation which he has also used in
the Metaphysics (1. ix. 1), that it only 1
multiplies phenomena, as it exhibits

‘the same law or conception as they.

He adds to it a captious objection,
that it is no use to say the absolute
differs from the conditional, in being
eternal, since length of duration does
not constitute a distinction between
identical qualities ;—as if length of
duration were the same as: eternity.
Cf. Eth. vt. iii. 2; and see Essay III.
p. 160,

7 πιθανώτερον δ᾽---δοκεῖ] ‘But the
Pythagoreans seem to give a more
probable account of it, placing unity
in the row of goods; whom Speusip-
pus too, it must be observed (δή),
appears to follow.’ We have to deal
here with the subtle differences be-
tween the Greek schools of metaphy-
sical philosophy. There came in

oo

364

~ ~ ~ ͵ . @&
τιθέντες ἐν τῇ τῶν ἀγαθῶν συστοιχίᾳ τὸ ἕν"

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I,

[Cuar.

οἷς δὴ καὶ

~ ~ \ Ἁ ,
Σπεύσιππος ἐπακολουθῆσαι δοκεῖ, AAR περὶ μὲν τούτων

succession,—first, the Eleatic principle,
that ‘the One’ is-the only really
existent. Second, the Megarian de-
velopment of this, ‘the One is iden-
tical with the good.’ Third, Plato’s
adoption of this with modifications, —
the One is the idea, opposed to plu-
rality, or phenomena ; the highest idea,
and most essential, is that of ‘the
Good; this is transcendental, self-
existent, the cause of existence to
phenemena, and also of our knowing
them ; phenomena, however, have still
a conditional existence, dependent on
the idea (μετέχει τῆς οὐσίας). Fourth,
opposed to Plato, and here contrasted
with him, we find the Pythagorean
doctrine which places ‘the One’
among the various exhibitions of
good, whether as causes of good, or
manifestations of it. The Pytha-
gorean system was said to be devoid
of dialectic (διαλεκτικῆς ob μετεῖχον,
Ar. Metaph.1. vi. 7.) We do not find
in them anything like ‘ critical’ phi-
losophy, nor any rationale of cogni-
tion. They seem content to have
seized on a few principles, the con-
ception of harmony, order, and pro-
portion in the world, &e. Their sys-
tem, however, had a definite bearing,
and part of this seems to have been
the ignoring any transcendental prin-
ciple, any principle otherwise than as
exhibited in phenomena. In Metaph.
XI. vii. 10, we find Aristotle repudi-
ating a doctrine which Speusippus
shared with the Pythagoreans, namely,
that good is rather a result of things
than their cause. Speusippus, nephew
of Plato and successor to him as head
of the Academy, seems, after the
death of his master, to have mani-
fested in several points a Pythagorean
leaning (see Essay ILI. p. 168). It is

mentioned, Metaph. xm. iv. 10, that
of those who held the doctrine of
ideas, some considered ‘the One’ as
identical with ‘the good,’ others not
as identical, but as an essential ele-
ment. If the one be identified with
the good, it follows that multeity, or,
in other words, matter, will be the
principle of evil. To avoid making
‘the many’ identical with evil, some
Platonists denied the identity of the
one with the good. Of this section
Speusippus was leader. He accord-
ingly adopted a Pythagorean formula,
saying that ‘the one’ must be ranked
among things good. In the present
place Aristotle must be regarded as
not really entering on the question.
His own metaphysical system stood
quite beside all these mentioned. But
he does not enter here upon a metaphy-
sical consideration of the good, as not
belonging to ethics. He merely states
objections to Plato’s doctrine, and in
a cursory way alleges a prima facie
preference (πιθανώτερον ἐοίκασιν λέ-
yew) for the Pythagorean theory, ac-
cording to which the good was not
transcendental, or separate from phe-
nomena.

8 ἀλλὰ περὶ μὲν τούτων ἄλλος ἔστω
λόγο] “ But let us put off to another
occasion the discussion of these ques-
tions,’ i.e. the whole subject of the
good and its relation to unity—to
existence—to the world. This is, in
short, the scope of Aristotle’s entire
Metaphysics. We need not confine
the reference of περὶ τούτων to the
Pythagoreans and Speusippus, or
refer it, with some commentators, to
the books mentioned in the list of
Diogenes (v. 25), περὶ τῶν Πυθαγορείων,
α΄. περὶ τῆς Σπευσίππου καὶ Revoxpd-
Tous, α΄.

a a ee es a we a ἐδ δοἐ,....

SS χουν

gd HOIKON NIKOMAXEIOQON 1. 365

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μὲν καθ᾽ αὑτά, θάτερα δὲ διὰ ταῦτα. χωρίσαντες οὖν ἀπὸ
~ > ΄ Ἀ ᾽ ε \ δ » , X

τῶν ὠφελίμων τὰ καθ᾿ αὑτὰ σκεψώμεθα εἰ λέγεται κατὰ
4

μίαν ἰδέαν.

μονούμενα διώκεται, οἷον τὸ φρονεῖν καὶ ὁρᾶν καὶ ἡδοναί

\ , ~ A 5" \ 2 οκΚ e

τινες καὶ TiAl; ταῦτα yap εἰ καὶ OF ἄλλο τι διώκομεν,

“ ~ > Ἁ ᾽ “ / * > yy

ὅμως τῶν καθ᾽ αὑτὰ ἀγαθῶν θείη τις ἄν. ἢ οὐδ᾽ ἄλλο

οὐδὲν πλὴν ἐμ ἰδέας; ὥστε μάταιον ἔσται τὸ εἶδος.

καὶ ταῦτ᾽ ἐστὶ τῶν κα αὑτά, τὸν τἀγαθοῦ λόγον ἐν ἅπα-

σιν αὐτοῖς τὸν αὐτὸν ἐμφαίνεσθαι δεήσει, καθάπερ ἐν χιόνι.
\ \ ~ -

καὶ ψιμμυθίῳ τὸν τῆς λευκότητος. τιμῆς δὲ καὶ φρονήσεως
\ τὸ “ “ \ ὃ 4 ε ra i 4 “5, Φ 4 /

καὶ ἡδονῆς ἕτεροι καὶ διαφέροντες οἱ λόγοι ταύτη ἥ ἀγαθά.

> ε \ X ~ “4 Bd a’ (Ὁ \
καθ᾿ αὑτὰ δὲ ποῖα θείη τις ἄν ; ἢ ὅσα καὶ το

εἰ δὲ 11

τοῖς δὲ λεχθεῖσιν--- ἄλλον) “ But
against my arguments an objection
suggests itself, namely, that the
Platonic theory was not meant to
apply to every good (διὰ τὸ μὴ περὶ
παντὸς ἀγαθοῦ τοῦς λόγους εἰρῆσθαι),
but that under one head are classified
those goods that are sought and loved
in and for themselves (καθ᾽ aird),
while things productive of these, or in
any way preservative of them, or pre-
ventive of their opposites, are spoken
of as “secondary goods” (διὰ ταῦτα),
and in another fashion.’ It seems
best to refer τοὺς λόγους to the Pla-
tonic theory. The words καθ᾽ ἕν
εἶδος are used not in the peculiarly
Platonic sense, ‘ under one idea,’ but
in the more common and also Aristo-
telian sense, ‘ under one species.’

10 ἢ οὐδ᾽ ἄλλο- εἶδο] ‘Or is
none of these, nor anything except
the idea, to be called an absolute
good? in which case the class good
will be devoid of content and indivyi-

duals. The Platonic idea was meant
to be not only an ἰδέα, or absolute
existence, transcending the world of
space and time, but also an εἶδος, or
universal nature, manifesting itself in
different individuals. This latter
property, Aristotle argues, will be
lost if we keep denying of different
attainable goods, even those that
seem most plainly so, that they are
goods in themselves.

11 povheews| ‘Thought.’ The
word is used in a general sense as the
substantive of φρονεῖν (cf. Eth. vu.
xii. 5), and not in its technical sense
as restricted to ‘ practical wisdom.’

τιμῆς δὲ---ἀγαθά]ῦ ‘Now honour,
thought, pleasure, exhibit distinct and
differing laws when viewed as goods.’
The same instances are given below,
I. vii. 5, of goods sought for their own
sake. Obviously here Aristotle is not
doing full justice by the question he
has started—what the ‘different
laws ’ of good in these objects call for,

δίκα.

14 TQ},

366 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQON 1.

[ CHa.

5: oe ” \ > \ , Ἐν Nae > \

12 0UX ἐστιν ἄρα TO ayaboy κοινὸν τι HATO play ἰδέαν. ἀλλὰ
~ \ / A »” ~ A 7 ’
πῶς δὴ λέγεται; οὐ γὰρ ἔοικε τοῖς ye HO τύχης ὁμωνύ-

She

~ ΓΙ ~
συντελεῖν, ἢ μᾶλλον κατ᾽ ἀναλογίαν ;
, ~ \ 57
13 ὄψις, ἐν ψυχῇ νοῦς, καὶ ἄλλο δὴ ἐν ἄλλῳ.
“ ἣν / \ ~
ταῦτα μὲν adereov TO viv"
yw a /
ἄλλης av εἴη φιλοσοφίας οἰκειότερον.

> 3. S22 a ae ie Se a ‘ Δ a
ἀλλ᾽ apa ye τῷ ἀφ᾽ ἑνὸς εἶναι, ἢ πρὸς Ev ἅπαντα

ὡς γὰρ ἐν σώματι
ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως
ἐξακριβοῦν γὰρ ὑπὲρ αὐτῶν
ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ περὶ

~ “ ~
τῆς ἰδέας" εἰ γὰρ καὶ ἔστιν ἕν τι TO κοινῇ κατηγορούμενον
> \ a / ee > .. Ὁ we ε 3 x
ἀγαθὸν ἢ χωριστόν τι αὐτὸ καθ᾽ αὑτό, δῆλον we οὐκ av εἴη

\ IOV \ > [4
πρακτὸν οὐδὲ κτητὸν ἀνθρώπω"
τάχα δέ τῳ δόξειεν ἂν βέλτιον εἶναι γνωρίζειν αὐτὸ

νῦν δὲ τοιοῦτόν τι ζητεῖ-

πρὸς τὰ κτητὰ καὶ πρακτὰ τῶν ἀγαθῶν" οἷον γὰρ παρά-
δειγμα τοῦτ᾽ ἔχοντες μᾶλλον εἰσόμεθα καὶ τὰ ἡμῖν ἀγαθά,

Ey Nw > 4 » ὦ
τις κἂν εἰδῶμεν, ἐπιτευξόμεθα αὐτῶν.

4 Ν Ks
πιθανότητα μὲν οὖν

ow \ ε , 5 Ν ~ ΕΣ la ~
ἔχει τινὰ ὃ λόγος, ἔοικε δὲ ταῖς ἐπιστήμαις διαφωνεῖν"
πᾶσαι γὰρ ἀγαθοῦ τινὸς ἐφιέμεναι καὶ τὸ ἐνδεὲς ἐπιζητοῦ-

a subtle investigation; whereas there
is here a summary assertion. We
might urge, on the other hand, that
honour is not an instance of an abso-
lute good (cf. 1. v. 5), that pleasure
and thought really exhibit the same
law of good—as being both ἐνέργειαι.
But Aristotle here partly trifles, and
partly dogmatizes. He would, of
course, refer us to metaphysics for the
question in point.

11-- 1 οὐκ ἔστιν — ἀναλογίαν
‘Good, therefore, is not something
generic under one idea. But how
then is the term used? For it does
not resemble accidental coincidences
of name. Shall we say then that it
is so used because all goods spring
from one source, or because they all
tend to one end, or rather that it is on
account of an analogy between them ?’
ὋὉμώνυμα answers to ‘ equivoeal’ words
in logic. The so-called ‘ Categories’
of Aristotle begin Ὁμώνυμα λέγεται

ὧν ὄνομα μόνον κοινόν. A nominalistic

explanation of the general conception
of good is here substituted provi-
sionally for the realism of Plato.

13 ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως--(ητεῖται] ‘ But perhaps
we should dismiss these questions for
the present, for to refine about them
belongs more properly to another kind
of philosophy. So too about the idea.
Even if there is any one good uni-
versal and generic, or transcendental
(χωριστόν) and absolute, it obviously
can neither be realised nor possessed
by man, whereas something of this
latter kind is what we are inquiring
after” Cf. Eth. x. ii. 4. The whole
force of the present chapter is con-
tained in this sentence. The Idea is
not πρακτόν τι, and therefore does not

belong to ethics. The concluding
paragraphs of the chapter are occupied
with. proving that the Idea is not
available even as a model (παράδειγμα)
for practical life.

15 ἐνδεέ)] Cf. Pol. vi. xvii. 15:
πᾶσα yap τέχνη καὶ παιδεία τὸ πρυσ-

δ. ἡ». ἐν

VI—VIL]

’
σαι παραλείπουσι

τεῖν οὐκ εὔλογον.

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I,

τὴν γνῶσιν αὐτοῦ.
τηλικοῦτον ἅπαντας τοὺς τεχνίτας ἀγνοεῖν καὶ μηδ᾽ ἐπιζη-. ue Ha εὔνοις of ™
ἄπορον δὲ καὶ τί ὠφεληθήσεται ὑφάν- τ6 [atley £ hen

367

Δ , Ν Ἁ ε ~ 4 >> N : ee, ' > Ψ x

τῆς ἢ τέκτων πρὸς THY αὑτοῦ τέχνην εἰδὼς αὐτὸ τἀγαθόν, ἢ
~ ’ x 54

πῶς ἰατρικώτερος ἢ στρατηγικώτερος ἔσται ὃ THY ἰδέαν

> τ “
αὐτὴν τεθεαμένος.

ἈΝ A IDNA Ἁ oe: f
Daiveras fev yap aude THY υγιειᾶν

a ~ -
οὕτως ἐπισκοπεῖν ὁ ἰατρός, ἀλλὰ τὴν ἀνθρώπου, μᾶλλον δ᾽

A ~ 7 ὦ . > ’
ἴσως τὴν τοῦδε᾽ καθ᾿ ἕκαστον γὰρ baTpsuel.

X ’ ϑ3ι. “Ἦν ~ ΕἸ ’΄
μεν TOUTWY ἐπὶ τοσοῦτον εἰρήσθω.

Πάλιν δ᾽ ἐπανέλθωμεν ἐπὶ τὸ ζητούμενον ἀγαθόν, τί
‘4 Ν 8 Ww 5 bid ,
Φαίνεται μὲν γὰρ ἀλλο ἐν KAAY, πράξει καὶ

9 ἃ
ποτ᾽ ἂν εἴη.

λεῖπον βούλεται τῆς φύσεως ἄναπλη-
ροῦν.

15—16 καίτοι-- τεθεαμένος] ‘And
yet it is not likely that all. artists
should be ignorant of, and never so
much as inquire after, so great an aid,
if really existing. But it is hard to
see in what a weaver or. carpenter
will be benefited with regard to their
respective arts by knowing the abso-
lute good; or how one is to become a
better doctor or general by having
contemplated the absolute Idea.’ It
has been objected that Aristotle fixes
on too mean specimens of the arts,
that he might have spoken differently
if he had adduced the fine arts. But
the question is, whether for practical
life the Idea, that is, a knowledge of
the absolute, could be made available?
This forms a great point of divergence
between Plato and Aristotle. The
latter seems to regard the Idea as_an
object of the speculative reason alone,
something metaphysical and standing
apart; and between the speculative
and practical powers of man he sets a
gulf. Plato, on the other hand, speak-
ing without this analytical clearness,
seems to think of the idea as an object
for the imagination, as well as the
reason, as being an ideal as well as an

idea. In thisits many-sided character
he would make it affect life, as wellas
knowledge ; for by contemplation of it

καὶ περὶ", ἰ |

Ih ag AF fell

καίτοι βοήθημα x) | ge

5

' Arle ἢ mae One
fey get board α

fie ofpod “δι
ke. “fhe X eh

ἌΣ;
bran ας Λ.
ΓΤ dics fa
Uhr bieheown |
hit Petknte

the mind would become conformed to

it. Cf. Repub. vu., and see Essay
ΠῚ. p. 153.

VIL. 1 πάλιν δ᾽ ἐπανέλθωμεν---εἴη]
‘ But let us return to the good we are
in search of, and ask what is its
nature. τὸ ζητούμενον is emphatic;
it distinguishes the πρακτὸν ἀγαθόν of
ethics, here ‘sought for,’ from the
transcendental supreme good of meta-
physics. Failing to obtain a satisfac-
tory answer to his question, either
from the common opinions of men, or
from the philosophers, Aristotle starts
anew, by asserting that though the
conception of good may vary ‘in each
art and action,’ yet it has this unvary-
ing characteristic, that it is the ‘ end.’
From this starting-point the argument
easily comes round to the position
already anticipated (μεταβαίνων δὴ ὃ
λόγος εἰς ταὐτὸν ἀφῖκται), that the
πρακτὸν ἄγαθόν is identical with the
τέλος τέλειον, or end-in-itself of action,
and with this basis, by a series of
@ priori principles, some already
enunciated by Plato and others pecu-
liar to his own system, Aristotle de-

368 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. [Cuap.

, 5, \ 5 ~ ~ A ~
τέχνη" ἄλλο yap sv ἰατρικῇ καὶ στρατηγικὴ καὶ ταῖς λοι-
~ e¢ a ε ΄ > s ΔΙΌ , A
παῖς ὁμοίως. τί οὖν ἑκάστης τἀγαθόν ; ἢ οὗ χάριν τὰ λοιπὰ
~ μὰ ~ ~
πράττεται; τοῦτο O ἐν ἰατρικῇ μὲν ὑγίεια, ἐν στρατηγικῇ
Ud wv
δὲ νίκη, ἐν οἰκοδομικῇ δ᾽ οἰκία, ἐν ἄλλῳ δ᾽ ἄλλο, ἐν ἁπάση
Ν , \ : / A / ; 7 ΄σ΄ 4
δὲ πράξει καὶ προαιρέσει τὸ τέλος" τούτου γὰρ ἕνεκα τὰ
λοιπὰ πράττουσι πάντες. ὥστ᾽ εἴ τι τῶν πρακτῶν ἁπάν-
> \ , pe 8.5 υ Ν Ν > , > Ν
τῶν ἐστὶ τέλος, τοῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη τὸ πρακτὸν ἀγαθόν, εἰ δὲ
/ ~ / \ « / ° a > ~
«πλείω, ταῦτα. μεταβαίνων δὴ GAdyos εἰς ταὐτὸν adi-
t ~ ~ ~ “ ΦΈΡΟΝ Ἢ >
3κται. τοῦτο ὃ ETE μᾶλλον διασαφῆσαι πειρατέον. ἐπεὶ
δὲ yn ί dais ι \ ἫΝ 4 > c ΄ 4 ΄ ὃ >
2 πλείω νεται τὰ τέλη, τούτων δ᾽ αἱρούμεθα τινα δι
o ἢ “ > 4 Ao 4, ε
ἕτερα, οἷον πλοῦτον αὐλοὺς καὶ ὅλως τὰ ὄργανα, δῆλον Wwe
» SA / , \ δ᾽ ΨΝ 4 ’ “
οὐκ ἐστι πᾶντα τέλεια τὸ ὃ ἄριστον τεέλειὸν τι daive-
a σ “" Ἂ
ται. ὥστ᾽ εἰ μέν ἐστιν ἕν τι μόνον τέλειον, TOUT ay εἴη
Ν ΄ > Ν / Ἀ Fé ,
τὸ ζητούμενον, ei δὲ πλείω, TO τελειότατον τούτων. τελει-
΄ Ν r \ > (ee. Ν “ 7 ¢ \
τερον δὲ λέγομεν τὸ καθ᾿ αὑτὸ διωκτὸν τοῦ δ ἕτερον καὶ
Ν δέ Ν > of ε A ~ \ θ᾽ « A } ὃ ‘
TO μηδέποτε OF ἀλλο αἱρετὸν τῶν καὶ καθ αὑτὰ καὶ δια
~ ~ ~ \ \
τοῦθ᾽ αἱρετῶν, καὶ ἁπλῶς δὴ τέλειον τὸ καθ᾽ αὑτὸ αἱρετὸν

μά.
el. JI

ἀεὶ καὶ μηδέποτε OF ἄλλο.

~ c > ΄ ΄
τοιοῦτον δ᾽ ἡ εὐδαιμονία μά-

velopes his conception of happiness or
the chief good, (1) It is τέλειον ; (2)
Also, it must be αὔταρκες ; (3) It
must be found in the Ἔργον of man.
(4) This”Epyov is a rational and moral
life ; (5) We must conceive of it ‘in
actuality,’ in other words, as ‘conscious
life ;’ (6\ We must add the condition
of conformity to its own proper law;
(7) And also the external condition of
sufficient duration and prosperity.

3 οἷον πλοῦτον αὐλοὺς καὶ ὅλως τὰ
ὄργανα] ‘As for instance, wealth,
flutes, and instruments in general.’
Wealth is a mere means (cf. τ. v. 8),
᾿Αὐλοί seems a stock example with
Aristotle of the instruments to an
art. Cf. De Animé, τ. iii. 26, where
he argues against the doctrine of the
migration of souls, saying, you might
as well speak of the carpenter’s art
migrating into flutes: παραπλήσιον
δὲ λέγουσιν ὥσπερ εἴ τις φαίη τὴν
τεκτονικὴν εἰς αὐλοὺς ἐνδύεσθαι ---δεῖ

γὰρ τὴν μὲν τέχνην χρῆσθαι τοῖς ὀργά-
vos, τὴν δὲ ψυχὴν τῷ σώματι. CF.
Xenophon, eon, τ. 10, where Socrates
says: ὥσπερ ye αὐλοὶ τῷ μὲν ἐπιστα-
μένῳ ἀξίως λόγου αὐλεῖν χρήματά εἰσι,
τῷ δὲ μὴ ἐπισταμένῳ οὐδὲν μᾶλλον ἣ
ἄχρηστοι λίθοι, εἰ μὴ ἀποδιδοῖτό γε
αὐτούς.

4 καὶ ἀπλῶς--- ἄλλο] ‘And therefore
we call that absolutely of the nature
of an end which is desirable in and for
itself always, and never in order to
anything else.” The conception of
ends was not fully developed in Plato ;
at the beginning of the second book
of the Republic, those are said to be
the highest goods which are desired
both for themselves and for their re-
sults (cf. Eth. τ. vi. 10). Aristotle’s
conception of the practical chief good
is that while it is solely an end, it yet
sums up the results of all means,
Hence he adds that it is not only
τέλειον, but αὔταρκες. These two

VIL] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I. 369

“ XN εἰ
λιστ᾽ εἶναι δοκεῖ ταύτην γὰρ αἱρούμεθα ἀεὶ δι’ αὑτὴν καὶ
οὐδέποτε OF ἄλλο, τιμὴν δὲ καὶ ἡδονὴν καὶ νοῦν καὶ πᾶσαν
ἡ
ἀρετὴν αἱρούμεθα μὲν καὶ δι᾽ αὑτά (μηθενὸς γὰρ ἀποβα!ι-
«ε / > a x w ε ΄ὔ Ν \ ~
vovTog ἑλοίμεθ᾽ av ἕκαστον αὐτῶν), αἱρούμεθα δὲ καὶ τῆς
ΓΑ
εὐδαιμονίας χάριν, διὰ τούτων ὑπολαμβάνοντες εὐδαιμονή:-
~ 7
σειν. τὴν δ᾽ εὐδαιμονίαν οὐδεὶς αἱρεῖται τούτων χάριν,
ΕἸ ~ ͵
οὐδ᾽ ὅλως δι’ ἄλλο. Φαίνεται δὲ καὶ ἐκ τῆς αὐταρκείας τὸ 6
p eae ΄ \ \ , ᾽ Ν 3 + J
αὐτὸ συμβαίνειν' τὸ γὰρ τέλειον ἀγαθὸν αὕταρκες εἶναι
~ 4 A,
δοκεῖ. τὸ δ᾽ αὔταρκες λέγομεν οὐκ αὐτῷ μόνῳ τῷ ζῶν} Apauk 4
βίον “μονώτην͵ ἀλλὰ καὶ ness καὶ τέκνοις καὶ γυναικὶ, agra ea vf
of ἐξ *
καὶ ὅλως τοῖς Φίλοις καὶ πολίταις, ἐπειδὴ φύσει πολιτι- 7 Ae ay thats
Ν y
nog ἄνθρωπος. τούτων δὲ ληπτέος ὅρος τις" ἐπεκτείνοντι 7
γὰρ ἐπὶ τοὺς γονεῖς καὶ τοὺς ἀπογόνους καὶ τῶν φίλων
Ἁ Π > A 7 ᾽ A ~ \ > ~
τοὺς Φίλους εἰς ἄπειρον πρόεισιν. αλλα τοῦτο μεν εἰσαυ-
\ ἃ
big ἐπισκεπτέον, τὸ δ᾽ αὔταρκες τίθεμεν ὃ μονούμενον αἷρε-
Ἁ ~ Ν Ζ \ ‘ 9 ~ ~ δὲ Ἁ δ
τὸν ποιεῖ τὸν βίον καὶ μηδενὸς ἐνδεᾶ" τοιοῦτον δὲ τὴν εὐδαι-
Ve , \
μονίαν οἰόμεθα εἶναι. ἔτι δὲ πάντων αἱρετωτάτην pale
᾿ οὗ ,
συναριθμουμένην, συναριθμουμένην δὲ δῆλον ὡς αἱρετωτέρα
μετὰ τοῦ ἐλαχίστου τῶν ἀγαθῶν" ὑπεροχὴ γὰρ ἀγαθῶν
γίνεται τὸ προστιθέμενον, ἀγαθῶν δὲ τὸ μεῖζον αἱρετώτε-
τ , ΄ ΄ \ ΕΠ ε > v4
ρὸν ἀεί. τέλειον δή τι φαίνεται καὶ αὔταρκες ἡ εὐδαιμονία,

qualities are attributed to the chief | one extends the circle to parents and
good in the Philebus of Plato, p. 20 c: | descendants and the friends of a man’s
τὴν τἀγαθοῦ μοῖραν πότερον ἀνάγκη | friends, it will go on to infinity. But
τέλεον ἢ μὴ τέλεον εἶναι; πάντων δή | this point we must consider hereafter.’
mov τελεώτατον, ὦ Σώκρατες. τί δέ; | Man, as a social being, having been
ἱκανὸν τἀγαθόν; πῶς yap οὔ; K.T.A. represented as the centre of a circle,

6 τὸ δ᾽ abrapkes—t%vOpwros| ‘We | Aristotle adds we must fix some
do not mean “all-sufficiency” toapply | limit to this circle within which his
to the individual alone leading a soli- [αὐτάρκεια is to radiate. He promises
tary life, but to one living in the | to return to the question. But the
midst of parents and children and in | promise is unfulfilled; see Essay I.
general friends and fellow-citizens, | p. 30. Among the definitions of
since man is by nature social.’ The | happiness given in the Rhetoric, 1. v. 3,
Greek οὐκ αὐτῷ μόνῳ-- ἀλλὰ καὶ | is Αὐτάρκεια ζωῆς.

T

γονεῦσι is defective in the grammar; 8 ἔτι δὲ advrwy—det| ‘ Moreover
the meaning apparently is, that adrdp- | we think it (οἰόμεθα) the most desir-
κεια does not imply isolation. able of all goods, provided it be not

7 τούτων δὲ-- ἐπισκεπτέον] ‘ But of (μή) reckoned as one’ among them;
these we must take some limit; forif | but if it were so reckoned, it is
BB

370

οτῶν πρακτῶν οὖσα τέλος.

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1.

[ Cuar.

ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως τὴν μὲν εὐδαι-

μονίαν τὸ ἄριστον λέγειν ὁμολογούμενόν τι Φαίνεται,

ιοποθεῖται δ᾽ ἐναργέστερον τί ἐστιν ἔτι λεχθῆναι.

τάχα

~ 3 ~ 3 A
δὴ γένοιτ᾽ dy τοῦτ᾽, εἰ ληφθείη τὸ ἔργον τοῦ ἀνθρώ-

σου.

ὥσπερ γὰρ αὐλητῇ καὶ ἀγαλματοποιῷ καὶ παντὶ

τεχνίτη, καὶ ὅλως ὧν ἐστὶν ἔργον τι καὶ πρᾶξις, ἐν
τῷ ἔργῳ δοκεῖ τἀγαθὸν εἶναι καὶ τὸ εὖ, οὕτω δόξειεν

plain that it would become more de-
sirable with the addition of the slight-
est good, for the addition constitutes
a preponderance of goods, and the
greater good is always the more de-
sirable.” This remark points out the
difference between the τέλειον καὶ
αὔταρκες ἀγαθόν and any other thing
to which the word ‘best’ can ever be
applied. The all-comprehensive and
supreme good, happiness, is indeed
the best, but not as being really
placed on a level with other goods,
or ranked among them; not as
being ‘best of the lot,’ but as in-
cluding all the lot in itself, so that
beside it there is no good left that
could possibly be added to it. The
Paraphrast gives exactly this meaning
to the passage, rendering the word
συναριθμουμένην by σύστοιχον τοῖς
ἄλλοις ἀγαθοῖς. καὶ εἰ σύστοιχον αὐτὴν
τοῖς ἄλλοις ποιήσομεν ἀγαθοῖς, φανε-
ρὸν ὅτι, εἰ προσθήσομέν τι τῶν ἄλ-
λων αὐτῇ, αἱρετωτέραν ποιήσομεν, καὶ
οὕτως οὐκ ἂν εἴη αὐτὴ τὸ ἄκρον τῶν
αἱρετῶν. And that the above was the
meaning of Aristotle is shown by the
author of the Magna Moralia (τ. ii. 7),
who starts the question: Πῶς τὸ
ἄριστον δεῖ σκοπεῖν ; πότερον. οὕτως ὡς
καὶ αὐτοῦ συναριθμουμένου ; to which
he answers: ᾿Αλλ᾽ ἄτοπον, τὸ γὰρ ἄρι-
στον ἐπειδή ἐστι τέλος τέλειον, τὸ δὲ
τέλειον τέλος ὡς ἁπλῶς εἰπεῖν οὐθὲν ἂν
ἄλλο δόξειεν εἶναι ἢ εὐδαιμονία, .----ἐὰν δὴ
τὸ βέλτιστον σκοπῶν καὶ αὐτὸ συτα-
ριθμῇς, αὐτὸ αὑτοῦ ἔσται βέλτιον " αὐτὸ

γὰρ βέλτιστον ἔσται. In other words,

the end is the sum of the means, and
therefore cannot be compared with the
means, for that would only be com-
paring it with itself. The whole con-
sists of parts, and cannot be called
the best of the parts. Nor can it be
made better by the addition of one of
the parts, than it was in itself. The
present passage is quoted by Alex-
ander Aphrodis. ad Ar. Topica, m.
2, (Brandis’s Scholia, 274b, 1. 17) to
illustrate the point that knowledge
plus the process of learning cannot be
called better than knowledge by it-
self, ὅτι τὸ μανθάνειν διὰ τὴν ἐπιστή-
μὴν αἱρούμεθα. ᾿Αλλ᾽ οὐδὲ εὐδαιμονία
μετὰ τῶν ἀρετῶν αἱρετωτέρα τῆς εὑὐδαι-
μονίας μόνης, ἐπεὶ ἐν τῇ εὐδαιμονίᾳ
περιέχονται καὶ αἱ ἀρεταὶ---οὗ γὰρ συνα-
ριθμεῖται τοῖς περιέχουσί τινα τὰ περιε-
χόμενα ὑπ᾽ αὐτῶν, ὡς ἐν τῷ πρώτῳ τῶν
᾿Ηθικῶν ἐῤῥήθη The word συναριθ-
μεῖσθαι in the sense of ‘to be reckoned
as one of a class,’ ‘to be placed in the
same scale,’ occurs Rhet. τ, vii. 3:
ἀνάγκη τά τε πλείω, τοῦ ἑνὸς καὶ τῶν
ἐλαττόνων, συναριθμουμένου τοῦ ἑνὸς ἢ
τῶν ἐλαττόνων, μεῖζον ἀγαθὸν εἶναι.
‘The more numerous must be ἃ
greater good than the fewer, if they
be placed in the same scale of com-
parison with it.’ Eustratius takes the
passage to mean that ‘happiness
would be the most desirable of all
things, even if not joined with other
goods, though with any addition it
would be a fortiori better.’ This con-
tradicts the very principle that Ari-
stotle wished to establish, that ‘best’

VII. ] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I. 371
ἂν καὶ ἀνθρώπῳ, εἴπερ ἔστι τι ἔργον αὐτοῦ. πότε-τι

" ,
pov οὖν τέκτονος μὲν καὶ σκυτέως ἔστιν ἔργα τινὰ καὶ
ῇ ’
πράξεις, ἀνθρώπου δ᾽ οὐδέν ἐστιν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀργὸν πέφυκεν : ἢ
“ bd ~
καθάπερ ὀφθαλμοῦ καὶ χειρὸς καὶ ποδὸς καὶ ὅλως ἐκάστου
~ / / , 3 “ 1. Cee 7 ‘
τῶν μορίων Φαίνεταί τι ἔργον, οὕτω καὶ ἀνθρώπου παρὰ
Us ~ , Ἂ ~
πάντα ταῦτα θείη τις ἂν ἔργον τι ; τί οὖν δὴ τοῦτ᾽ ἂν εἴη
/ \ \ ΩΣ ~
more; τὸ μὲν γὰρ ζῆν κοινὸν εἶναι φαίνεται καὶ τοῖς ᾧυ- 12

᾿ / + Ἁ \
αφοριστεον ἄρα τὴν θρεπτικὴν

τοῖς, ζητεῖται δὲ τὸ ἴδιον. ἀφοριστέον ἄρα τ Ἢ

καὶ αὐξητικὴν ζωήν. ἑπομένη δὲ αἰσθητική τις ἂν εἴη, φαί-
νεται δὲ καὶ αὕτη κοινὴ καὶ ἵππω καὶ βοΐ καὶ παντὶ ζώω.
λείπεται δὴ πρακτική τις τοῦ λόγον ἔχοντος. | τούτου δὲ 13
τὸ μὲν ὡς ἐπιπειθὲς λόγῳ, τὸ δ᾽ ὡς ἔχον καὶ διανοούμενον."

and ‘ most desirable’ are to be applied
to the supreme good; not meaning
that which merely as a fact is better
than other things, but, ideally, that
than which nothing can be better.
Aristotle accepts from the Platonists
the doctrine, that the chief good is in-
capable of addition. Cf. Eth. x. ii. 3.

II πότερον οὖν τέκτονος K.T.A.]
This argument—by which, from the
analogy of the different trades, of the
different animals, and of the separate
parts of the body, the existence of a
proper function for man is proved—
comes almost verbatim from Plato’s
Republic, τ. 352-3. The ἔργον of
anything Plato there defines as that
which can alone or best be accom-
plished by the thing in question.
Apa οὖν τοῦτο ἂν θείης καὶ ἵππου
καὶ ἄλλου ὁτουοῦν ἔργον ὃ ἂν ἢ μόνῳ
ἐκείνῳ ποιῇ τις ἢ ἄριστα; Of course
ἔργον in this sense is to be distin-
guished from such uses as in Eth. τ. i.
2, where it means an ‘external re-
sult ;’ Ly. li. 10, ‘a work of art;’ τι. ix,
2, ‘a labour,’ or ‘ achievement.’

12 τὸ μὲν γὰρ Civ—exovtos] ‘Now
mere life is shared even by the plants,
whereas we are secking something
peculiar. We may set aside therefore
the life of nutrition and growth.

Succeeding this will be a principle of
life that may be called the percep-
tive; but this too appears shared by _
horse and ox and every animal,
There remains then what may be
called a moral life of the rational
part.’ The argument here as to the
proper function of man, and the divi-
sion on which it is based, belongs
entirely to the physiological and psy-
chological system of Aristotle. See
Essay V. p. 237. The meanings of the
word πρακτικός are (1) witha genitive
‘able to do,’ or ‘ disposed to do,’ as
Iv. 11, 27, ὀλίγων πρακτικόν, τ. ix. 8,
πρακτικοὺς τῶν καλῶν. (2) ‘Active,’
‘practical,’ opposed to quiescent or
speculative, 1. v. 4. Of δὲ χαρίεντες
kal πρακτικοὶ τιμήν. VI. viii..2. (3)
‘Moral,’ as here, opposed to the
life of animal instinct. Cf. v1. ii. 2,
τῷ τὰ θηρία αἴσθησιν μὲν ἔχειν, πράξεως
δὲ μὴ κοινωνεῖν. Or, as VI. iv. 2, VI.
xii. 10, opposed to the artistic and the
scientific.

13 τούτου δὲ---διανοούμενον ͵)]͵ With
regard to the present passage, Bekker
exhibits no variation in the MSS., and
the Paraphrast evidently had it in his
text. All that can be said, therefore,
is that the present sentence inter-
rupts the sense and grammar of the

BB 2 τς

872

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I.

[ Cuar.

ων “ ἊΝ \ 4 , \ 9 OF ,
διττῶς δὲ καὶ ταύτης λεγομένης τὴν κατ᾽ ἐνέργειαν θετέον"
, \ “ ~ / > δ. A 5,
τά κυριώτερον γὰρ αὕτη δοκεῖ λέγεσθαι. εἰ δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἔργον
ἀνθρώπου ψυχῆς ἐνέργεια κατὰ λόγον ἢ μὴ ἄνευ λόγου, τὸ
δ᾽ αὐτό φαμεν ἔργον εἶναι τῷ γένει τοῦδε καὶ τοῦδε σπου-
΄ a ~ \ / ~
δαίου, ὥσπερ κιθαριστοῦ καὶ σπουδαίου κιθαριστοῦ, καὶ
ἁπλῶς δὴ τοῦτ᾽ ἐπὶ πάντων, προστιθεμένης τῆς κατ᾽ ἀρε-
τὴν ὑπεροχῆς πρὸς τὸ ἔργον" κιθαριστοῦ μὲν γὰρ τὸ
ΞΔ ἢν “Nee p Ao. aoe > of > ,
κιθαρίζειν, σπουδαίου δὲ τὸ εὖ" εἰ δ᾽ οὕτως, ἀνθρώπου δὲ
, 3 ΄ ΄ Ν ~ ; Ψ
τίθεμεν ἔργον ζωήν τινα, ταύτην δὲ ψυχῆς ἐνέργειαν καὶ
7 ἈΝ , . 4 3, ὁ Ἀ S ~
πράξεις μετὰ λόγου, σπουδαίου δ᾽ ἀνδρὸς εὖ ταῦτα καὶ

context, and that it is conspicuously
awkward in a book which for the most
part reads smoothly.

διττῶς δὲ---λέγεσθαι] ‘But further,
since this life may be spoken of in two
ways’ (either as an existing state or
developed into actuality), ‘we must
assume it to be in actuality; for this
seems the more distinctive form of the
conception.’ καθ᾽ ἕξιν is the opposition
to κατ᾽ ἐνέργειαν. Cf. τ. viii. 9.

14 We have here ἃ fourfold pro-
tasis: εἰ δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἔργον---τὸ δ᾽ αὐτό
φαμεν ἔργον---ἀνθρώπου δὲ τίθεμεν---
ἕκαστον δ᾽ εὖ. The apodosis to all of
these is εἰ δ᾽ οὕτω, τὸ ἄνθρώπινον
ἀγαθόν, where γίνεται is used as de-
noting a deduction from premises,
just as the future tense is often em-
ployed. Similar long-drawn argu-
ments occur 11. vi. 9, mi. v. 17, &e.

εἰ δ᾽ ἐστὶν---λόγου]͵ ‘Now if the
function of man be conscious life ac-
cording to a law, or implying a law.’
ψυχή, substituted for the previous
term ζωή, denotes the entire principle
of life, thought, and action, in man.
The additional term κατὰ λόγον gives
an equivalent to πρακτική, since the
reason necessarily introduces a moral
point of view into every part of life
(ef. De Animd, u. x. 7). It is difficult
to translate κατὰ λόγον, because the
word λόγος is ambiguous. Partly it

means reason, partly alaw orstandard
(cf. Eth. τι. ii, 2). As compared with μὴ
ἄνευ λόγου, κατὰ λόγον would express
a marked, direct, and prominent con-
trol. In the εὐφυής and the σώφρων,
where the desires flow naturally to
what is good, reason would seem
rather to be presupposed (οὗ οὐκ ἄνευ)
than directly to assert itself. The
more significant expression, however,
is that which follows, πράξεις μετὰ
λόγου. A machine might be said to
move κατὰ λόγον, ‘in accordance with
a law,’ but not μετὰ λόγου, ‘with a
consciousness of a law.’ It is this
consciousness of the law, which, ac-
cording to Hegel, distinguishes mora-
lity (Moralitiit) from mere propriety
(Sittlichkeit), On the transition of
meaning from κατ᾽ ἐνέργειαν to ἐνέργεια
ψυχῆς, and on the translation of these
terms, see Essay IV. p. 187, 193.

τὸ δ᾽ αὐτὸ---κιθαριστοῦ] ‘And we
say that the function 15 generically the
same of such a one, and such a one
good of his kind, as, for instance, of a
harper, and of a good harper.’ φαμέν
is an appeal to language and general
consent. τοῦδε is used indefinitely as
above, I. vi. 16, τὴν τοῦδε, ‘the health
of such and such an individual ;’ σι,
xi. 6, ἥδε ἡ ἡλικία, &c. The present
passage vindicates the introduction of
κατ᾽ ἀρετήν into the definition by

VIL]

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I.

373

καλῶς, ἕκαστον ὃ εὖ κατὰ τὴν οἰκείαν ἀρετὴν ἀποτελεῖ" 5
ται" εἰ δ᾽ οὕτω, τὸ ἀνθρώπινον ἀγαθὸν ψυχῆς ἐνέργειαι
γίνεται κατ᾽ ἀρετήν, εἰ δὲ πλείους αἱ ἀρεταί, κατὰ τὴν

ἀρίστην καὶ τελειοτάτην. ἔτι δ᾽ ἐν βίῳ τελείῳ,

χελιδὼν ἔαρ οὐ ποιεῖ, οὐδὲ μία ἡμέρα" οὕτω δὲ οὐδὲ
μακάριον καὶ εὐδαίμονα μία. ἡμέρα οὐδ᾽ ὀλίγος χρόνος.

/ x Ks > \ ΄
περιγεγράφθω μὲν οὖν τἀγαθὸν ταύτῃ.
ὑποτυπῶσαι πρῶτον, «if ὕστερον ἀναγράψαι.

δεῖ γὰρ leet ἢ
δόξειε δ᾽

ay παντὺς εἶναι προαγαγεῖν καὶ διαρθρῶσαι τὰ καλῶς
ἔχοντα τῇ περιγραφῇ, καὶ 6 χρόνος τῶν τοιούτων εὑρετὴς

x τ Ν
7 Guvepyos ἀγαθὸς εἶναι.

«“ \ ον δὲ “

ὅθεν καὶ Tw τεχνων γεγόνασιν
ae ς [4 “4 4 A ~ δ. ~

as ἐπιδόσεις παντὸς yap προσθεῖναι TO ελλειπον.

μεμινῆ- 18

showing there is nothing illogical in
doing so, that by taking a genus in
its best form we do not go off into
another genus.

15 ἕκαστον δ᾽ εὖ--- ἀποτελεῖται] ‘And
everything is well completed in accor-
dance with its own proper excellence.’
Cf. Eth, τι. vi. 2. This principle of
the connexion between the proper
function of a thing and the peculiar
law of excellence of that thing is
taken from Plato; cf. Repub. τ. p. 353.
It is introduced here to justify the
term κατ᾽ ἀρετήν in the definition of
happiness. This term is not at once
to be interpreted ‘according to virtue,’
which would destroy the logical se-
quence of the argument. It comes in
at first in a general sense, ‘according
to the proper law of excellence in man,’
whatever that may be.

εἰ δ᾽ οὕτω---τελειοτάτην] ‘If so, I
say, it results that the good forman
is conscious life according to the law
of excellence; and if the excellences
be more than one, according to that
which is best and most absolutely in
itself desirable.’ Whatever awkward-
ness and strangeness there may appear
in this attempt to render the definition
of Aristotle, it will be found on con-
sideration to approach, at all eyents,

nearer to his meaning than the usual
rendering: ‘an energy of the soul,
according to virtue,’ &e.

16 ἔτι δ᾽ ἐν βίῳ---χρόνο5] “ But we
must add also ‘in a complete period
and sphere of circumstances,’ For
one swallow does not make a summer,
nor does one day; and so neither one
day nor a brief time constitutes a ἡ
man blest and happy.’ los, the ex-
ternal form and condition of life, im-
plies both fortunes and duration. By
adding this last consideration, Ari-
stotle gives a practical aspect to his
definition. Ideally, a moment of con-
sciousness might be called the highest
good, independent of space and time.
τέλειος, as we have seen above (8 4),
means ‘that which is of the nature of
an end,’ ‘that which is desirable for
its own sake.’ But no doubt the popu-
lar sense of the word comes in to
some degree in the present passage ;
partly Aristotle had before his mind
the conception of a ‘complete’ or
‘perfect’ duration of life, partly of an
external history and career that could
be designated as ‘ desirable for its own
sake.’

17 περιγεγράφθω---ἐλλεῖπον) ‘Thus
far, then, for a sketch of the chief
good ; for we ought surely to draw the

μία γὰρ 16

374

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1.

[Cuar.

Ν κ ~ / 4 \ \ Ε ’ \
σθαι δὲ καὶ τῶν προειρημένων χρή, καὶ τὴν ἀκρίβειαν μὴ
ὁμοίως ἐν ἅπασιν ἐπιζητεῖν, ἀλλ᾽ ἐν ἑκάστοις κατὰ τὴν
ὑποκειμένην ὕλην καὶ ἐπὶ τοσοῦτον ἐφ᾽ ὅσον οἰκεῖον τῇ

19 μεθόδῳ.
ζητοῦσι τὴν ὀρθήν.

καὶ γὰρ τέκτων καὶ γεωμέτρης διαφερόντως ἐπι-
ὁ μὲν γὰρ ἐφ᾽ ὅσον χρησίμη πρὸς τὸ

” - > fs Dy ~ rae \ \ > ~
ἔργον, ὃ δὲ Th ἐστιν ἢ ποιὸν TI θεατὴς γὰρ τἀληθοῦς.
A >», \ A ij | ~ ΕΝ , a 4A
τὸν αὐτὸν δὴ τρόπον καὶ εν τοῖς ἄλλοις ποιητέον, ὅπως μὴ

Ξοτὰ πάρεργα τῶν ἔργων πλείω γίγνηται.

οὐκ ἀπαιτητέον

“4 a
δ᾽ οὐδὲ τὴν αἰτίαν ἐν ἅπασιν ὁμοίως, ἀλλ᾽ ἱκανὸν ἔν τισι τὸ
a > ~ ~ i \ \ A > ΙΑ A ϑ oo
ὅτι δειχθῆναι καλῶς, οἷον καὶ περὶ τὰς ἀρχάς" τὸ δ᾽ ὅτι

outline first, and afterwards to fill it
up. And it would seem that any one
could bring forward and complete
what fits in with the sketch, and that
time is a good discoverer of such
things, or at least a good cooperator.
Hence it is, too, that the development
of the arts has taken place, for every
man can supply that which is defec-
tive.” From this point to the end of
the chapter, Aristotle dwells on the
importance of a principle (like his de-
finition of the chief good) as an outline
or comprehensive idea, afterwards to
be developed and filled up. (Cf. a simi-
lar phrase in De Gen. Anim. τι. Vi. 29:
καὶ γὰρ of γραφεῖς ὑπογράψαντες ταῖς
γραμμαῖς οὕτως ἐναλείφουσι τοῖς χρύμασι
τὸ ζῷον, et preced.) He adds, how-
ever, the caution that mathematical
exactness must not be required in
filling up the sketch. He seems here
to dwell with some pride on the foun-
dation he has laid for ethics ; a similar
feeling betrays itself with regard to
his logical discoveries, Sophist. Elench.
XXxiil. 13, where is a parallel passage
to the present on the importance of
ἀρχαί: τὰ δὲ ἐξ ὑπαρχῇς εὑρισκόμενα
μικρὰν τὸ πρῶτον ἐπίδοσιν λαμβάνειν
εἴωθε, χρησιμώτερον μέντοι πολλῷ τῆς
ὕστερον ἐκ τούτων αὐξήσεως. μέγιστον
yap ἴσως ἀρχὴ παντός, ὥσπερ λέγεται.

18 τὴν ἀκρίβειαν -- ἐπιζητεῖν] Cf. τ.
iii. 1. The word ᾿Ακρίβεια, with its

cognate ἀκριβής, has different shades
of meaning which may be here speci-
fied. (1) ‘Minuteness of details.’
Cf. Plato, Repub. 10. 414 4, ds ἐν τύπῳ,
μὴ δὲ ἀκριβείας. Eth. τι. vii. 5. (2)
‘ Mathematical exactness,’ which im-
plies every link of argument being
stated, and the whole resting on de-
monstrative grounds. Cf. Metaph,
a ἔλαττον, iii. 2. Eth. vu. iii. 3. (3)
‘Definiteness,’ or ‘fixedness.’ Cf
VuL. vii. 5, ᾿Ακριβὴς οὐκ ἔστιν dpiopds.
π. ii. 4, Ὁ λόγος οὐκ ἔχει τἀκριβές,
answering to ἑστηκός, Ix. ii. 2, ΠῚ,
iii. 8. (4) Applied to the arts it de-
notes ‘finish.’ Cf. 1 iii. 1, τι, vi. 9,
vi. vil. 1. (5) By a slight transition
from the last, when applied to sciences,
it means also ‘ metaphysical subtlety.’
This transition is made v1. vii. 2: ef.
x. iv. 3; De Animd,1.i.1. In the
passage before us ἀκρίβεια seems to
combine several of the above-men-
tioned meanings. It seems to say
that mathematical exactness is not
suited to ethies—that too much sub-
tlety is not to be expected (καὶ γὰρ
τέκτων καὶ γεωμέτρης, x. τ. A.)—that
too much detail is to be avoided (ὅπως
μὴ τὰ πάρεργα, K. τ. A.).

20 οὐκ---ἀρχή] ‘Nor must we de-
mand the cause in all things equally,
—in some things it is sufficient that
the fact be well established, as is the
case with first principles. Now the

VIL]

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1.

375

~ ‘ ’ 7, ~ » ~ ΕἸ ε x 3 ~
πρῶτον και αρχῆ τῶν apywy ὃ αι μεν ET AYwWYy §ew- 21

~ ε > 7 c 3 ~ 7 Ἁ wv w
POuvTas, αἱ δ᾽ αἰσθήσει, ai δ᾽ ἐθισμῷ Tivl, καὶ αλλαι ὃ

ἄλλως.

, Ν ε ’ Σ , A
μβέετιεναι δὲ WELDATEOYV εκαστοις Ἢ πεφύκασιν, και

’ “ ε ~ ~ fa Ν ”
σπουδαστέον ὅπως ὁρισθῶσι καλῶς" μεγάλην γὰρ ἐχουσι

ῥοπὴν πρὸς τὰ ἑπόμενα.

δοκεῖ γὰρ πλεῖον ἢ ἥμισυ παντὸς

εἶναι ἡ ἀρχή, καὶ πολλὰ συμφανῇ γίνεσθαι OF αὐτῆς τῶν

ζητουμένων.

fact constitutes a first point and prin-
ciple.” The bearing of this somewhat
obscure sentence seems to be to repeat
the remark made, τ. iv. 6-7, that in
morals a fact appealing to the indivi-
dual consciousness has a paramount
validity. Just as in the other sciences
we do not ask the why and wherefore
of the axioms, so in morals we accept
the facts because we feel them without
their being demonstrated. Cf Eth,
VI. Vili. 9.

21 τῶν ἀρχῶν δ᾽---ἑπόμενα)] ‘ But
of principles some are apprehended by
induction, others by intuition, others
by a sort of habituation of the mind,
and, in short, different principles in
different ways. But we must endeavour
_ }to attain each in the natural way, and
we must take all pains to have them
rightly defined, for they are of great
importance for the consequences drawn
from them.’ This digression seems
partly suggested by the immediately
preceding paragraph on the relation of
facts in morals to principles of science,
partly it belongs in general to this
part of the subject. Aristotle, having
laid down his ground-principle of
ethics, makes a pause, in which some
remarks are introduced on principles,
their importance, and the method of
attaining them. The words καὶ ἄλλαι
δ᾽ ἄλλως show that the list of methods
is not meant to be exhaustive. The
commentators, misunderstanding the
Greek, have inquired by what ‘other
methods other principles’ could be

sought? But, of course, these words
only generalize the whole proposition
(cf. Eth. τ. iv. 3, ἄλλοι δ᾽ ἄλλο).
θεωροῦνται] ‘are perceived;’ cf. vi.
iii, 2, vi. ili. 5. Answering to pe-
τιέναι we have the term θηρεύειν ἀρχάς,
Prior Analytics, τ. xxx. 2. With ἧ
πεφύκασι we must understand a passive
infinitive, ‘in the way in which they
are meant by nature to be reached.’
As to the method of obtaining prin-
ciples, ef. Prior Analytics, τ. xxx. 1,
where the study of nature and of facts
is pointed out as the only source of
ἀρχαί or universal premises. ‘H μὲν
οὖν dds κατὰ πάντων 7 αὐτὴ καὶ περὶ
φιλοσοφίαν καὶ περὶ τέχνην ὁποιανοῦν
καὶ μάθημα" δεῖ γὰρ τὰ ὑπάρχοντα καὶ
οἷς ὑπάρχει περὶ ἕκαστον ἀθρεῖν.----Διὸ
τὰς μὲν ἀρχὰς τὰς περὶ ἕκαστον ἐμ-
πειρίας ἐστὶ παραδοῦναι. Connecting
then the recognition οὗ ἀρχαί with the
knowledge of facts, we see that (1)
ἐπαγωγή is the evolution of a general
law outof particular facts, (2) αἴσθησις
is the recognition of the law in the
fact. Αἴσθησις is not to be restricted —
to the perception of the senses, or
confined (as the Paraphrast would
have it) to the physical sciences,
Rather it is opposed to ἐπαγωγή, as
intuition to inference. Cf. Eth, νι.
xi. 5, τούτων οὖν ἔχειν δεῖ αἴσθησιν,
αὕτη δ᾽ ἐστὶ νοῦς. (3) ἐθισμός is a
sort of unconscious induction, a pro-
cess by which general truths may be
said to grow up in the mind. Nor is
this process peculiar to moral truths

376 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I.

| Cuap.

/ \ \ > 6 > , 3 “ U
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αὐτῆς" τῷ μὲν yap ἀληθεῖ πάντα συνάδει τὰ ὑπάρχοντα;
4 s Ἄεα nontal

«τῷ δὲ ψευδεῖ ταχὺ διαφωνεῖ τἀληθές.

νενεμιημιένων δὴ τῶν

ἀγαθῶν τριχῇ, καὶ τῶν μὲν ἐκτὸς λεγομένων τῶν δὲ περὶ
ψυχὴν καὶ σῶμα, τὰ περὶ ψυχὴν κυριώτατα λέγομεν καὶ

μάλιστα ἀγαθά.

τὰς δὲ πράξεις καὶ τὰς ἐνεργείας τὰς

alone: it is ἃ question whether even
the truths of number do not derive
part of their validity as necessary
axioms from their frequent repetition.
See_Mill’s Logic, book π. ch. v.

VIII. We now enter upon a fresh
division of the Book. From hence to
the end of Chapter 12th Aristotle
tests his great ethical principle, his
definition of the chief good, by com-
paring it with various popular or
philosophic opinions, and by applying
to it certain commonly mooted ques-
tions and distinctions of the day.

1 σκεπτέον δὴ--τἀληθέ}) ‘We
must consider it (ie, the first prin-
ciple) therefore not only from the
point of view of our own conclusion
and premises, but also from that of
sayings on the subject. For with
what is true all experience coincides,
with what is false the truth quickly
shows a discrepancy.’

περὶ αὐτῆς] especially with δή, can
only be referred to ἣ ἀρχή in the pre-
ceding line. This is a general doc-
trine of science, though Aristotle im-
mediately exemplifies it with regard
to his definition of happiness.

ἐξ ὧν] is compressed for ἐξ ἐκείνων
ἐξ ὧν. The clause τῷ μὲν---τἀληθές
contains an indistinctness and a diffi-
culty overlooked by the commenta-
tors. For they content themselves
with explaining that ‘truth in the
thought is identical with existence in

the thing.” “*O yap ἐν τῷ λόγῳ τὸ
ἀληθές, τοῦτο ἣ ὕπαρξις ἐν τῷ πράγματι"
ὅταν οὖν τὰ ὑπάρχοντα τῷ πράγματι
συνάδει τοῖς περὶ αὐτοῦ λεγομένοις,
δῆλον ἂν εἴη, ὅτι ἀληθὴς 6 λόγος
(Eustratius). The difficulty is, that
Aristotle is not talking of comparing
theory with facts, but his own theory
with the theories of others. Ta ὑπάρ-
xovra, however, cannot exactly mean
‘opinions’ or ‘theories.’ It is plain
that there is some confusion in the
expressions used, which is increased
by the word τἀληθές in the second
part of the sentence answering to τὰ
ὑπάρχοντα in the first. There is here
a mixing up of the objective and the
subjective sides of knowledge. Our
word ‘ experience’ may perhaps serye
to represent τὰ ὑπάρχοντα, meaning
neither ‘ facts’ nor ‘ opinions,’ but facts
as represented in opinions, In the
same way τἀληθές is not simply the
true fact, nor the true theory, but
‘the truth,’ that is, fact embodied in
theory. τὰ ὑπάρχοντα would usually

mean the natural attributes of a thing,

the facts of its nature. Cf. Prior Anal.
I, xxx. 1 (quoted above). Eth. 1.x. 7.

2 νενεμημένων--- ἀγαθά] ‘To apply
our principle (84), goods have been di-
vided into three kinds, the one kind
being called external goods, and the

others goods of the mind and body; —

and we call those that have to do with
the mind most distinctively and most
especially goods.’ This classification

Se eS μι

VIL]

ψυχικὰς περὶ ψυχὴν τίθεμεν.

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. 377

“ ~ x
ὥστε καλῶς ἂν λέγοιτο

΄ ΄ Ν ΄ + \ ¥ + <

κατά ye ταύτην τὴν δόξαν παλαιὰν οὖσαν καὶ ὁμολογου-
, \ ~ ΄ χα

μένην ὑπὸ τῶν φιλοσοφούντων. ὀρθῶς δὲ καὶ ὅτι πράξεις 3
Ν ’ \ -

τινὲς λέγονται καὶ ἐνέργειαι τὸ τέλος" οὕτω γὰρ τῶν

A 4 > ~ / ‘ > ~ 5 ,
περὶ ψυχὴν ἀγαθῶν γίνεται, καὶ οὐ τῶν ἐκτός.

συνᾷδει δὲ 4

τῷ λόγω καὶ τὸ εὖ ζῆν καὶ τὸ εὖ πράττειν τὸν εὐδαί :
D λόγᾳ εὖ Sj ράττειν τὸν εὐδαίμονα

»Ἤ

σχεδὸν γὰρ εὐζωία τις εἴρηται καὶ εὐπραξία.

φαίνεταιδὲς

A hy Wei ΄ \ Ἁ >> , a 3. 6 ’
καὶ τὰ ἐπιζητούμενα περὶ τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν ἅπανθ ὑπάρχειν
τῷ λεγθέντι. τοῖς μὲν γὰρ ἀρετή, τοῖς δὲ Ἵ ran
5 λεχθέντι. τοῖς μὲν γὰρ ἀρετή, τοῖς δὲ φρόνησις, ZA-6

is attributed by Sextus Empiricus,
adv. Ethicos xt. 51, to the Platonists
and Peripateties ; but in the Eudemian
Ethics τι. i. τ, it is spoken of as a
popular division, καθάπερ διαιρούμεθα
ἐν τοῖς ἐξωτερικοῖς λόγοις. Accordingly
here Aristotle calls it ‘an ancient di-
vision that is admitted by the philo-
sophers.’ It is only as in contrast to
σῶμα that we can venture to call ψυχή
‘mind, Our psychological words
are so much more definite and re-
stricted than those of Aristotle, that
we cannot hope to give a uniform ren-
dering of terms which he employs
in varying senses. We must follow
his context, and try to catch the
association which is for the time most
prominent.

4. ὀρθῶς δὲ--ἐκτό)] ‘And our
definition is right in that certain
actions and modes of consciousness
are specified as the End. For thus
it comes to be one of the goods of
the mind, and not one of those that
are external.’ πράξεις stand for the
development of the moral nature
of man, ἐνέργειάι more generally for
the development of any part of his
nature into consciousness. In either
case the man departs not out of
himself; the good is one existing in
and for his mind.

4 συνάδει---αὐπραξία! ‘And with
our definition the saying ’ (cf. Eth. 1.
iv. 2) ‘agrees that “the happy man
lives well and does well.” For we hare

described happiness pretty much as a
kind of well-living and well-doing.’

5 φαίνεται δὲ--- λεχθέντι] ‘ More-
over the various theories of what is
requisite with regard to happiness
seem all included in the definition.’
There is a sort of mixed construction
here, ἐπιζητούμενα being used in a
doubtful sense. The meanings of the
word ἐπιζητεῖν are: (1) to ‘require’
or ‘demand,’ vim. xiv. 3, τὸ δυνατὸν
ἡ φιλία ἐπιζητεῖ: (2) to ‘search after,’
I. Vi. 15, ἀγνοεῖν καὶ μηδ᾽ ἐπιζητεῖν:
(3) to ‘examine’ or investigate,’ 1.
Vii. 19, €mi(nrova: Thy ὀρθήν. στη. i. 6:
(4) to ‘question,’ like ἀπορεῖν, rx. vii.
1. Inthe passage before us, τὰ ἐπιζ)-
τούμενα partly means ‘the things de-
manded, or thought requisite ;’ partly,
as going with περὶ τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν,
‘the discussions or investigations on
the subject of happiness.’ The words
δὲ καί mark a transition from con-
sidering the merely popular opinions,
to the more philosophic ‘investiga-
tions’ of the subject.

6 τοῖς μὲν γὰρ-- συμπαραλαμβά-
vovow| As we learn from the next
section, Aristotle is rather running
over the chief heads of opinion than
giving any accurate classification of
the different schools of philosophy.
The opinion that identified happiness
with virtue may perhaps be attributed
to the Cynics; with practical wisdom
(φρόνησις) to Socrates ; with philoso-

phy (σοφία) to Anaxagoras (cf. Eth. x.
cc

378 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQON I,

[ Cuar.

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γετηριαν συμπαραλαμίβθανουσιν.

A
τούτων δὲ τὰ μὲν πολλο

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YE τι ἢ καὶ τὰ TWASOTA κατορύουν.

τοῖς μὲν οὖν λέγουσι

viii. 11), Heraclitus, Democritus, &e.
‘That it consisted in these things or
one of these, with pleasure added or
implied,’ is the doctrine asserted by
Plato in the Philebus. That ‘fa-
vourable external conditions’ must be
included, seems to haye been the
opinion of Xenocrates, who attributed
to such external things a δύναμις
ὑπηρετική. See Essay III. p. 169.

7 τούτων δὲ- κατορθοῦν] One MS.
omits ἢ καί, leaving the sentence
οὐδετέρους δὲ τούτων εὔλογον διαμαρ-
τάνειν τοῖς ὅλοις, ἀλλ᾽ ἕν γέ τι τὰ
πλεῖστα κατορθοῦν, for which Dr.
Cardwell suggests the emendation
κατορθοῦντας. ‘It is not likely that
either class should be altogether at
fault, but only in some particular
point, their general conclusions being
correct.’ This is confirmed by the
interpretation of the Paraphrast: ὧν
οὐδετέρους εὔλογον τῆς ἀληθείας ἐν πᾶσι
διαμαρτάνειν " ἀλλὰ καθ᾽ ἕν τι μόνον
ἴσως, ἐν tots πλείστοις δὲ ἀληθεύειν.
But the text, as it stands above, gives
a sense most in accordance with what
Aristotle would be likely to say.
‘Now some of these are opinions held
by many, and from ancient times ;
others by a few illustrious men ; but
it is not probable that either class
should be utterly wrong, rather that,
in some point at least, if not in most
of their conelusions, that they should
be right.’

8 sqq. Aristotle now proceeds to
show his own coincidence with these

pre-existent theories. It is to be ob-

served that he says nothing here in
reference to those who made happi-
ness to consist in ‘wisdom,’ or ‘a
sort of philosophy.’ This is one of
the marks of systematic method in the
Ethics, He will not anticipate the
relation of φρόνησις and σοφία to
εὐδαιμονία. The rest of the argument
is very simple. (1) The definition of
happiness, ‘conscious life under the
law of virtue,’ agrees with, includes,
and improves upon the definition that
says ‘virtue is happiness.’ For it
substitutes the evocation, employment,
and conscious development of virtue,
for the same as a mere possession or
latent quality. (2) Such a life im-
plies pleasure necessarily and essen-
tially (καθ᾽ αὑτὸν ἡδύς); for pleasure,
being part of our consciousness (7d
μὲν γὰρ ἥδεσθαι τῶν ψυχικῶν, cf. Eth.

x. ili. 6), necessarily attaches to all

that we are fond of, or devoted to, or
that we follow as a pursuit (ἑκάστῳ δ᾽
ἐστὶν ἡδὺ πρὸς ὃ λέγεται φιλοτοιοῦτος,

οἵ, Eth. πα. iii. 1—3), and thus will

arise out of a life of virtue to him that
pursues such a life. He will experi-

ence a harmony of pleasures unknown —

to others (τοῖς φιλοκάλοις ἐστὶν ἡδέα
τὰ φύσει ἡδέα). Hence we may super-
sede the addition proposed by some
philosophers of μεθ᾽ ἡδονῆς to the con-
ception of happiness. Our conception,
says Aristotle, needs no such adjunct
‘to be tied on like an amulet.’ (3)
He accepts the requirements of
Xenocrates. External prosperity is

a condition without which happiness.

ε
δ. ὦν ee ἷΝ δι. ὦ μάλ. αὐ

ὙΙΠ.7

ΗἩΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION I.

379

τ \ 5 « Ἁ ax > Δ ΄ ὃ , μ « » ’ Φ Α͂
ἣν αἀρετην q ἀρετὴν τινα συνῳ og ἐστιν ὁ Λογος ταυτῆς

> « 3 » Ἁ > +
γὰρ εστιν ἢ HAT αὐτὴν ενεργεια.

διαφέρει δὲ ἴσως οὐ9

Ν 5 7 a 7 \ ὧν ε / \ 3
μικρὸν εν κτήσει ἢ χρήσει TO ἄριστον ὑπολαμβάνειν, καὶ EV

a Cae /
ἕξει y ἐνεργείᾳ.

τὴν μὲν γὰρ ἕξιν ἐνδέχεται μηδὲν ἀγαθὸν

» ~ ε / Ὗ ~ ΄ “Δ \ 2

ἄποτεέλειν ὑπάρχουσαν, οἷον τῷ καθεύδοντι ἡ καὶ ἄλλως
5 / A » ae ὁ- 3 er ,

πως ἐξηργηκότι, THY O ενέργειαν οὐχ οἷον τε" πράξει

γὰρ ἐξ ἀνάγκης, καὶ εὖ πράξει.

ὥσπερ δ᾽ Ὀλυμπίασιν

> ’ A / ~ . >
οὐχ οἱ κάλλιστοι καὶ ἰσχυρότατοι στεφανοῦνται AAD οἱ

> , ΄ ͵ ἘΠ o tape aes
ἀγωνιζόμιενοι (τούτων γάρ τινες νικῶσιν), οὕτω καὶ τῶν ἐν

τῷ βίῳ καλῶν κἀγαθῶν οἱ πράττοντες ὀρθῶς ἐπήβολοι

,
γίγνονται.

5 Ν Ν,. 4 , 3. ow 2 e424 eN7
ἔστι δὲ καὶ ὃ βίος αὐτῶν καθ᾽ αὑτὸν nous.

A
TO10

by γὰρ ἥδεσθαι τῶν ψυχικῶν, ἑκάστῳ δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἡδὺ πρὸς ὃ
"- yap ἢ Abend ΤΣ ἘΣ ΡΕΡ
λέγεται Φιλοτοιοῦτος, οἷον ἵππος μεν τῷ Φιλίππῳ, θέαμα
ἈΝ -“ 7 A CA, Ν f \ BS ΄ ~
δὲ τῷ φιλοθεώρῳ " τὸν αὐτὸν δὲ τρόπον καὶ τὰ δίκαια τῷ

/ Ἁ \ ~ /
φιλοδικαίω καὶ ὅλως τὰ κατ᾽ ἀρετὴν τῷ φιλαρέτῳ.

τοῖς τ Ι

μὲν οὖν πολλοῖς τὰ ἡδέα. μάχεται διὰ τὸ μὴ φύσει τοιαῦτ᾽

εἶναι, τοῖς δὲ φιλοκάλοις ἐστὶν ἡδέα τὰ φύσει ἡδέα.

τοι-

cannot practically exist, though it is
not to be confounded with happiness.

Thy ἀρετὴν ἢ ἀρετήν τινα] ‘Virtue
or excellence of some sort.’ The am-
biguity of the word ἀρετή renders it
impossible to be translated uniformly.
It comes into the Ethics with the
general meaning of excellence, but
constantly tends to restrict itself to
human virtue, and indeed to moral
virtue, as distinguished from other
human excellence.

9 τῷ καθεύδοντι ἢ ἄλλως πως ἐξηρ-
γηκότι] “Τὸ one asleep, or otherwise
totally inactive.” Cf. 1. v. 6.

πράξει γὰρ ἐξ ἀνάγκης καὶ εὖ πράξει]
Both the terms ‘action’ and ‘well’ are
implied in ἐνέργεια κατ᾽ ἀρετήν. Ed
πράξει, however, goes off into a diffe-
rent train of associations.

οὕτω----γκίγνονται)͵ ‘In the same
way it is they who act rightly that
attain to the noble and excellent
things in life.’ ἐπήβολος repeats the
metaphor of the archer, Lth. τ, ii. 2;

cf. Aisch. Prom. 444, Eth. τ. x. 14.
The expressions here used show
Aristotle’s bright and enthusiastic
feelings about the good attainable in
life.

11 τοῖς μὲν οὖν---ἧδέα] ‘Now to
most men there is a sense of discord
in their pleasures, because they are not
naturally pleasant ; but to the lovers
of what is beautiful those things are
pleasant which are naturally pleasant.’
τοῖς πολλοῖς is a sort of dativus com-
modi. The word φιλόκαλος occurs in
the Phedrus of Plato, where it is said
that the soul which in its antenatal
state saw most clearly the Ideas, in
life enters εἰς γονὴν ἀνδρὸς γενησομένου
φιλοσόφου ἢ φιλοκάλου
τινος καὶ ἐρωτικοῦ.

ἢ μουσικοῦ
Plato uses it, in
accordance with his context, to denote
one with a poetic feeling and love for
the beautiful, like the verb φιλοκαλεῖν
in Thucydides, u. c. 40. In Aristotle
the meaning is more restricted to a
love of the noble in action. th, tv.

380 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. [ Cuar.
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N+ \ > ΕΟ IDX \ ~ ~ ε ~ ©
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/ > ~ [τ / la > .,Vv \ « Ἁ >
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« ~ Ν ~ / x ν᾿,
ἑαυτῷ. πρὸς τοῖς εἰρημένοις γὰρ οὐδ᾽ ἐστὶν ἀγαθὸς ὁ μὴ
~ ~ / x Ἁ 4 SN a
χαίρων ταῖς καλαῖς πράξεσιν" οὔτε yap δίκαιον οὐδεὶς ay
εἴποι τὸν μὴ χαίροντα τῷ δικαιοπραγεῖν, οὔτ᾽ ἐλευθέριον
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; eee, * ~ ” > δ᾽ ov ῥ᾽ ε \ * 7 ε >
13επὶ τῶν AAAWY. εἰ ουτω, κα αυτας ἂν εἰεν αἱ κατ
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λαί, καὶ μάλιστα τούτων ἕκαστον, εἴπερ καλῶς κρίνει
᾿φ περὶ αὐτῶν 6 σπουδαῖος" κρίνει δ᾽ ὡς εἴπομεν. ἄριστον.
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ἥδιστον δὲ πέφυχ᾽ οὗ τις ἐρᾷ τὸ τυχεῖν.
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Ἂ Ἁ
τας δέ, ἢ μίαν τούτων τὴν ἀρίστην, φαμὲν εἶναι τὴν εὐδαι-

iv. 4, it means one with a noble spirit:
τὸν φιλότιμον ἐπαινοῦμεν ὡς ἀνδρώδη
καὶ φιλόκαλον. φύσει ἡδέα denotes
partly things that are, ought to be,
and must be pleasures, according to
the eternal fitness of things, in accor-
dance with the whole frame of the
world; cf. φύσει βουλητόν, Eth, ut.
iv. 3; partly, pleasures which are in
accordance with the nature of the
individual,—his natural state—his
highest condition; ef. vu. xiv. 7,
φύσει ἡδέα ἃ ποιεῖ πρᾶξιν τῆς τοιᾶσδε
φύσεως, ‘Things are naturally pleasant
which produce an operation of any
given nature’ (viewed as a whole):
VII. xi. 4, γένεσις εἰς φύσιν αἰσθητή,
‘a perceptible transition into one’s
natural state.’ On the various mean-
ings of φύσις, see below, Eth, um. i. 3,
note.

12 ὥσπερ περιάπτου τινός} ‘Like
an amulet to be tied on.’ Cf. Plutarch,
Vit. Pericl. § 38: ὃ Θεόφραστος ἐν τοῖς

ἠθικοῖς διαπορήσας εἰ πρὸς τὰς τύχας
τρέπεται τὰ ἤθη, ---ἱστόρηκεν, ὅτι νοσῶν 6
Περικλῆς ἐπισκοπουμένῳ τινὶ τῶν φίλων
δείξειε περίαπτον ὑπὸ τῶν γυναικῶν τῷ
τραχήλῳ περιηρτημένυν, Cf. also Plato,
Repub. tv. 426 8, οὐδ᾽ αὖ ἐπωδαὶ οὐδὲ
περίαπτα, κ.τ.λ.

οὐδ᾽ ἐστὶν ἀγαθὸς ὃ μὴ χαίρων] This
anticipates Eth, u. iii. 1, where it is
said that pleasure is the test of a ἕξις
being formed.

14 κατὰ τὸ Δηλιακὸν ἐπίγραμμα]
The Eudemian Ethics commences by
quoting this inscription, rather more
circumlocution being used than here.
Ὁ μὲν ἐν Δήλῳ παρὰ τῷ θεῷ Thy αὑτοῦ
γνώμην ἀποφηνάμενος συνέγραψεν ἐπὶ
τὸ προπύλαιον τοῦ Λητῴου, κατ.λ. The
last line, as there given, stands πάντων
δ᾽ ἥδιστον, ob τις ἐρᾷ τὸ τυχεῖν. The
verses also oceur among the remains
of Theognis, and the same sentiment
in iambics is found in a fragment of
the Creusa of Sophocles, Stobseus Serm.

VIUI.—IX. ] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. 381

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μὲν οὖν καὶ ἄλλο τι ἐστὶ 5 Goel In ons

διὰ τύχην παραγίνεται. εἰ

cut. 15. This classification of goods—
that ‘justice is most beautiful, health
best, and success sweetest,’ belongs to
the era of proverbial philosophy in
Greece ; see Essay 11.

15 ἀχορήγητον ὄντα] We should
say, by analogous metaphors, ‘ Unless
sufficiently furnished’ or ‘ equipped.’
Cf. Iv. ii. 20.

πολλὰ μὲν γὰρ --- τεθνᾶσι»] Cf.
Rhetoric, τ. v. 4, εἰ δή ἐστιν ἣ εὐδαι-
μονία τοιοῦτον, ἀνάγκη αὑτῆς εἶναι μέρη
εὐγένειαν, πολυφιλίαν, χρηστοφιλίαν,
πλοῦτον, εὐτεκνίαν, πολυτεκνίαν, εὐγη-
ρίαν, ἔτι τὰς τοῦ σώματος ἄρετάς, οἷον
ὑγίειαν κάλλος ἰσχὺν μέγεθος δύναμιν
ἀγωνιστικήν, δόξαν, τιμήν, εὐτυχίαν,
ἀρετήν " οὕτω γὰρ ds αὐταρκέστατος εἴη,
εἰ ὑπάρχοι αὐτῷ τά τ᾽ ἐν αὐτῷ καὶ τὰ
ἐκτὸς ἀγαθά" οὐ γάρ ἐστιν ἄλλα παρὰ
ταῦτα. The expression in the Rhetoric
—‘parts of happiness,’ is equiva-
lent to ‘instruments’ of happiness,
the more aceurate designation in the
present passage.

17 καθάπερ οὖν--- ἀρετήν] ‘As we
have said then, it seems to require the

addition of such external prosperity.
Hence some identify good fortune with
happiness, as another class of philo-
sophers do virtue.’ The Cyrenaics
and Cynics appear to be alluded to
here. Aristotle’s doctrine contains
and gives a deeper expression to all
that is true in both of the two views.

IX. 1 ὅθεν---παραγίνεται] ‘ Whence
also the question is raised whether
it (happiness) is to be attained by
teaching, or habit, or any other kind
of practice; or whether it comes by
some divine providence, or lastly by
chance. The word ὅθεν expresses the
thread of connexion, by which this
new subject of discussion is intro-
duced. Since happiness seems to be
a balance of two principles, an internal
one, virtue, and an external one, cir-
cumstances, the question arises whether
it is attainable by the individual
through any prescribed means, or
whether it is beyond his control. It
seems chiefly, however, to be upon
the word ἀρετήν that Aristotle goes

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tow

382

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQON 1.

[ Caap.

as , 3 ΄ + Wa ea nN , ͵
θεῶν δώρημα ἀνθρώποις, εὔλογον καὶ τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν θεόσ-
ὅοτον εἶναι, καὶ μάλιστα τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων ὅσω βέλτιστον.
3 ἀλλὰ τοῦτο μὲν ἴσως ἄλλης ἂν εἴη σκέψεως οἰκειότερον,

, Ν “ἌΝ > \ , ho Scere, See >> Ν
Φαίνεται δὲ κἂν εἰ μὴ θεόπεμπτός ἐστιν ἀλλὰ OV ἀρετὴν

\ ~
καί τινα μάθησιν ἢ ἄσκησιν παραγίνεται, τῶν θειοτάτων
εἶναι" τὸ γὰρ τῆς ἀρετῆς ἄθλον καὶ τέλος ἄριστον εἶναι

, \ -Ψὔ \ ΄
4 Φαίνεται και θεῖόν τι και μακαριον.

εἴη δ᾽ ἂν καὶ πολύ-

κοινον " δυνατὸν γὰρ ὑπάρξαι πᾶσι τοῖς μὴ πεπηρωμένοις
x ’
ςπρὸς ἀρετὴν διά τινος μαθήσεως καὶ ἐπιμελείας. εἰ δ᾽
> \ a , ANN 4 > ~ 3, 3:
ἐστὶν οὕτω βέλτιον ἢ διὰ τυχὴν εὐδαιμονεῖν, εὐλογον ἔχειν

off. The question of the day, πότερον

ye; padnroy ἡ ἀρετή, comes before him on

mentioning that some identify happi-

‘Sness with virtue. Thus he says, not
κ᾿ ie ς

quite distinctly, ‘It is questioned
whether happiness can be learnt.’
The question forms an important point
at issue in the ethical systems of
Aristotle and of Plato. The con-
clusion of Aristotle is directly opposed
to that which is somewhat tentatively
stated at the end of the Meno (99 &):
ἀρετὴ by εἴη οὔτε φύσει οὔτε διδακτόν,
ἀλλὰ θείᾳ μοίρᾳ παραγιγνομένη ἄνευ νοῦ,
οἷς ἂν παραγίγνηται.

2—3 ‘ Now it
must be confessed that if anything
else at allis a gift of gods to men, it
seems reasonable that happiness too
should be the gift of God, especially
as it is the best of human things.
But this exact point perhaps would
more properly belong to another
enquiry; at all events, if happiness
is not sent by God, but comes by
means of virtue, through some sort of
learning or practice, it appears to be
one of the divinest things.” We have
here a characteristic exhibition of
Aristotle’s way of dealing with ques-
tions of the kind. We may observe :
(1) His acknowledgment and admis-
sion of the religious point of view, and
the prima facie ground for the inter-

εἰ μὲν οὖν---εἶναι]

ference of Providence ἴῃ this case if i
any others, (2) His strict mainte-
nance of the separate spheres of the
sciences. A theological question cannot
belong to ethics. (3) His manner of
dismissing the subject. ‘ Happiness,
if not given by God, is at all events
divine’ (ef. Eth. x. vili. 13)—by which
expression he alters the view, giving it
a Pantheistic instead of a Theistic
tendency; see Essay V. (4) His
immediate return to the natural and
practical mode of thought.

4 εἴη δ᾽ ἂν πολύκοινον---ἐπιμελεία5]
This is an addition to the preceding
epithets of happiness. Not only is it
‘something divine and blessed,’ as
being ‘the crown and end of virtue,’
but also ‘it must be widely common
property, for it may be possessed—
through a certain course of learning
and care—by all who are not incapa-
citated for excellence.’ As it stands,
this last clause is a petitio principii.
Afterwards, however, the assumption
is justified by arguments in its support
both from reason and experience.
Aristotle insisted much less than
Plato on the innate difference between
man and man, and approaches much
more nearly to the mechanical and
sophistical view, ἄνθρωπος ἀνθρώπου ob
πολὺ διαφέρει.

5--- εἰ δ᾽ ἐστὶν ---ἂν ef] The argu-

IX.]

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1.

383

a bd XN \ 7 ε er / v
ουτως, εἴπερ τὰ HATA ᾧυσιν, ὡς οἷόν τε κάλλιστα ἐχειν,

[τὴ /
οὕτω πεῷυκεν.

a. Ν “
τὸ δὲ μέγιστον

καὶ κάλλιστον ἐπιτρέψαι τύχη λίαν πλημμελὲς ἂν εἴη.
ESN RIE Sa $0.5 “ ΄ Gy Ee PRI
συμφανὲς δ᾽ ἐστὶ καὶ ἐκ τοῦ λόγου τὸ ζητούμενον" εἴρη-

ται γὰρ ψυχῆς ἐνέργεια κατ᾽ ἀρετὴν ποιά τις.

~ ἊΝ
τῶν OF

~ > ~ \ Ν ε “ > ~ \ \ N
λοιπῶν ἀγαθῶν τὰ μὲν ὑπάρχειν ἀναγκαῖον, τὰ δὲ συνεργὰ

ment, which is βία θα ἴῃ rather a com-
plex way, seems as follows:—‘If it
were better that happiness should be
attainable by certain definite means,
we may conclude that it is so (be-
cause in nature, art, and every kind
of causation, especially in what is
higher, things are regulated in the
best possible way). But it is bet-
ter, because the contrary supposition
(namely, that the chief good should
depend on chance) is simply absurd
and inconceivable.’ It is an ὦ priori
argument, based on a sort of natural
optimism, on a belief in the fitness of
things. We find a similar classifica-
tion of causes into nature, chance, and
human skill, Ht. ut iii. 7, where
however necessity is added. Cf. vi.
iv. 4. The ἀρίστη αἰτία here meant
seems to be virtue. Cf. Eth. τι. vi. 9,
and De Juv, et Sen. iv. 1: κατὰ δὲ τὸν
λόγον, ὅτι Thy φύσιν ὁρῶμεν ἐν πᾶσιν ex
τῶν δυνατῶν ποιοῦσαν τὸ κάλλιστον.
7—11 The succeeding arguments
may be briefly summed up. (2) He
appeals to his definition of the chief
good, that it is a certain ‘development
and awaking of the consciousness

under the law of virtue, and with-

certain necessary or favourable ex-
ternal conditions.’ This definition
obviously implies the contradictory of
any theory making happiness merely
and entirely a contingency or chance.
(3) Since the chief good is the end of
polities, whose main business it is to
educate and improve the citizens—-

this shows that education is the re-
cognised means of happiness. (4)
Animals are not called happy, because
they are incapable of the above-men-
tioned awaking of the moral consci-
ousness. (5) The same applies to
boys, whose age renders them inea-
pable of that which has real moral
worth. At this point Aristotle adds
that happiness requires absolute virtue,
and a completed round of life (éperijs
τελείας καὶ βίου τελείου), and he goes
off into a new train of thoughts on
the uncertainty of human affairs, by
which he is brought into contact with
the paradox of Solon.

7 τῶν δὲ λοιπῶν ἀγαθῶν---ὀργανικῶς]
The Paraphrast explains τὰ λοιπὰ
ἀγαθά here to mean τὰ σωματικά,
which he divides into τὰ αὐτοῦ τοῦ
σώματος, such as health, which are
necessary to the existence of happi-
ness (ὑπάρχειν ἀναγκαῖον), and τὰ περὶ
τὸ σῶμα, as wealth, friends, &c.,
which are helps and instruments to
happiness. Aristotle probably had
not this exact division before his
mind. He places happiness essen-
tially in the consciousness ; and then
speaks of other and secondary condi-
tions, partly necessary and partly
favourable. He in fact hovers between
the ideal and the practical. Sometimes
he speaks of happiness as that chief
good which includes everything (Zth.
I. vii. 8); at other times he analyses
its more essential and less essential
parts, and leaves in it a ground open

ε Ζ ἊΣ \ δ ιν τὴ . ~
ομοιὼς OF και τὰ κατα τεχνὴν καὶ πᾶσαν 6
2. ἢ \ , \ ..
QAITIAY, και μαλιστα HATA Τὴν αριστὴν.

ἋΣ

384 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQON I. [ Cap.

aes 8 καὶ χρήσιμα πέφυκεν ὀργανικῶς. ; ὁμολογούμενα δὲ ταῦτ᾽
μάννα leat [ἂν εἴη καὶ τοῖς ἐν ἀρχῇ; τὸ γὰρ τῆς πολιτικῆς τέλος
τι was Me κι ἄριστον ἐτίθεμεν, αὕτη δὲ πλείστην ἐπιμέλειαν ποιεῖται τοῦ
visi bora led αὶ ποιούς τινας καὶ ἀγαθοὺς τοὺς πολίτας ποιῆσαι καὶ προα»οτις
vin huh (2%) κοὺς τῶν καλῶν. εἰκότως οὖν οὔτε βοῦν οὔτε ἵππον οὔτε
: ἄλλο τῶν ζῴων οὐδὲν εὔδαιμον λέγομεν" οὐδὲν γὰρ αὐτῶν
10 οἷόν τε κοινωνῆσαι τοιαύτης ἐνεργείας. διὰ ταύτην δὲ τὴν
αἰτίαν οὐδὲ παῖς εὐδαίμων ἐστίν" οὔπω yap πρακτικὸς τῶν
τοιούτων διὰ τὴν ἡλικίαν " οἱ OF λεγόμενοι διὰ τὴν ἐλπίδα
μακαρίζονται. δεῖ γάρ, ὥσπερ εἴπομεν, καὶ ἀρετῆς τελείας
τ καὶ βίου τελείου. πολλαὶ γὰρ μεταβολαὶ γίνονται καὶ
παντοῖαι τύχαι κατὰ τὸν βίον, καὶ ἐνδέχεται τὸν μάλιστ᾽
εὐθηνοῦντα μεγάλαις συμφοραῖς περιπεσεῖν ἐπὶ γήρως,
καθάπερ ἐν τοῖς ἡρωϊκοῖς περὶ Πριάμου μυθεύεται" τὸν δὲ
τοιαύταις χρησάμενον τύχαις καὶ τελευτήσαντα ἀθλίως

οὐδεὶς εὐδαιμονίζει.
10 Πότερον οὖν οὐδ᾽ "ἄλλον οὐδένα ἀνθρώπων εὐδαιμο-

' the. re
Nappi sft e
1 Agree “εἴ

to chance and circumstances, which
admits of being improved or impaired.

ὁμολογούμενα--- τοῖς ἐν ἀρχῇ] ‘In
agreement with what we said at start-
ing.” Cf. x. vii. 2: “Ομολογούμενον
δὲ τοῦτ᾽ ἂν δόξειεν εἶναι καὶ τοῖς πρό-
τερον καὶ τῷ ἀληθεῖ.

10 διὰ ταύτην μακαρίζοντα) In
Politics, 1. chap. xiii., it is discussed,
from a more external point of view,
whether boys are capable of the same
virtue in a household as men. To
which the conclusion is Ἐπεὶ δ᾽ 6
mais ἀτελής, δῆλον ὅτι τούτου μὲν καὶ ἣ
ἀρετὴ οὐκ αὐτοῦ πρὸς αὐτόν ἐστιν, ἀλλὰ
πρὸς τὺν τέλειον καὶ τὸν ἡγούμενον
(δ 11). The boy’s good qualities have
not an independent existence; they
only give the promise of such. The
sentiment διὰ τὴν ἐλπίδα μακαρίζονται
is neatly expressed by Cicero de Rep.
(quoted by Servius on Ain. vi. 877):
‘O Fanni, difficilis causa laudare
puerum: non enim res laudanda, sed
spes est.’

It εὐθηνοῦντα)] aliter εὐσθενοῦντα,
Cf. Rhet. τ. v. 3, εὐϑηνία κτημάτων
καὶ σωμάτων, where also there is the
variation εὐσθένεια.

ἐν τοῖς ἡρωϊκοῖς} aliter Τρωϊκοῖς,
Dr. Cardwell quotes Bentley, who, upon
Callimachus Fragm. 208, pronounces
that ἥρωες is a false reading for Τρῶες,
τὰ ἡρωϊκά means ‘the heroic legends.’

X. The mention of Bios τέλειος
and of the Πριαμικαὶ τύχαι brings
Aristotle now to consider the famous
paradox of Solon, that ‘no one can
be called happy as long as he lives.’
The discussion of this question is
valuable not only for its own sake as
a criticism upon the old saying, but
as introducing a practical considera-
tion of happiness, and tending to settle
the relation to it of outward circum-
stances. Other points of interest are
mooted rather than set at rest.

1 πότερον obv—dmrobdvy| ‘Must we
extend this farther, and call no man

IX.—X. ] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I. 385

/ a a‘ ~ Ἁ ld ~
νιστέον ἕως av ζῇ, κατὰ Σόλωνα δὲ χρεὼν τέλος ὁρᾶν;
εἰ δὲ δὴ \ 4 / a ~ ἃ Υ ἂν ἡὸ /

i δὲ δὴ καὶ θετέον οὕτως, apa ye καὶ ἔστιν εὐδαίμων 5
, x od =
τότε ἐπειδὰν ἀποθάνη; ἢ τοῦτό ye παντελῶς ἄτοπον,
vv A ~ , cn ΓΑ ΑΝ Ἁ »
ἄλλως τε καὶ τοῖς λέγουσιν ἡμῖν ἐνέργειάν τινα τὴν εὐδαι-
“ > Ν Ἁ / ἈΝ ~ > / ἊΝ
μονίαν ; εἰ δὲ μὴ λέγομεν τὸν τεθνεῶτα εὐδαίμονα, μηδὲ 3
ΠΛ, ~ : ~ ~
Σόλων τοῦτο βούλεται, ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι τηνικαῦτα ay τις ἀσφαλῶς
“ + nw “ 5
μακαρίσειεν ἄνθρωπον ὡς ἐκτὸς ἤδη τῶν κακῶν ὄντα καὶ
~ / 5 ~ ΄
τῶν δυστυχημάτων, ἔχει μὲν καὶ τοῦτ᾽ ἀμφισβήτησίν τινα"
~ Ἁ ~ ~
δοκεῖ γὰρ εἶναί τι τῷ τεθνεῶτι καὶ κακὸν καὶ ἀγαθόν, εἴπερ

} ~ ~ Ἁ > ῇ , δέ “ψ } A > ΓΔ r
καὶ τῷ ζῶντι μὴ αἰσθανομένω δέ, οἷον τιμαὶ καὶ ἀτιμίαι ᾿
a ἜΗΝ 9 5

καὶ τέκνων καὶ ὅλως ἀπογόνων εὐπραξίαι τε καὶ δυστυχίαι.
ἀπορίαν δὲ καὶ ταῦτα παρέχει" τῷ γὰρ μακαρίως βεβιω- 4
κότι μέχρι γήρως καὶ τελευτήσαντι κατὰ λόγον ἐνδέχεται
πολλὰς μεταβολὰς συμβαίνειν περὶ τοὺς ἐκγόνους, καὶ

th
a A,
Head Man,

whatever happy as long as he lives,
but, according to Solon’s saying, look
to the end? And, if we must allow
this opinion, can we say that a man is
happy after he is dead?’ τέλος is
here used, not in the technical Ari-
stotelian sense, but after the common
usage, as in the Solonian proverb it-
self. There were two ways in which
this proverb might be understood. It
might express: (1) That a man is posi-
tively happy after death. (2) That
negatively he now attains happiness,
that is, safety from change; and thus
may be retrospectively congratulated.

ἢ τοῦτό γε--εὐδαιμονίαν͵)]͵ ‘ Nay,
surely this (the first position) is alto-
gether absurd, especially to us who
call happiness a vivid state of con-
sciousness.’ —~

4 ἔχει μὲν---τινα}] ‘Still even this
(second way of putting it) is open
to some difficulty.’ It seems not so
sure that the dead zs safe and clear
from the changes and chances of the
world,—for may he not be affected by
the fortunes of his posterity ?

δοκεῖ yap εἶναί τι τῷ τεθνεῶτι καὶ
κακὸν καὶ ἀγαθόν, εἴπερ καὶ τῷ (ζῶντι

μὴ αἰσθανομένῳ δέ] This is the read-
ing of all Bekker’s MSS.; but the
rendering of the Paraphrast is at va-
riance with it, and seems to imply a
reading of καί instead of μή. His
words are: πάλιν δὲ οὐκ ἀρκοῦσα 7
λύσις δοκεῖ. ᾿Απορία γάρ ἐστιν ἔτι, εἰ
λέγομεν εἶναί τι τῷ τεθνεῶτι καὶ κακόν
τι καὶ ἀγαθόν, καὶ αἰσθανομένῳ δέ, ὥσπερ
καὶ τῷ ζῶντι. ‘For it is thought that
the dead has, ay and feels too, both
good and eyil, just as much as the
living. If the common reading be
retained, we must suppose Aristotle
first to have stated in the mildest form
the popular belief that the happiness
of the dead is connected with the
fortunes of his family, and afterwards
(ἄτοπον δὲ καὶ τὸ μηδέν) to have ex-
pressed this more strongly. In that
case, he here seems to say that ordinary
opinion ascribes happiness and misery
to the dead in a figure, that is, with
reference to our idea of their happi-
ness and misery ; just as good and evil
may be ascribed to the living, who are
unconscious of them.

4 τῷ γὰρ---κατὰ λόγον] ‘For to
him who has lived in felicity till old

DD

386 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQON I. [ Cap.

A ‘ > τῷ > \ > \ ~ , Pe 5
τοὺς μὲν αὐτῶν ἀγαθοὺς εἶναι καὶ τυχεῖν βίου τοῦ κατ
ἀξίαν, τοὺς δ᾽ ἐξ ἐναντίας. δῆλον δ᾽ ὅτι καὶ τοῖς ἀποστή-

~ ~~ 5
μασι πρὸς τοὺς γονεῖς παντοδαπῶς ἔχειν αὐτοὺς ἐνδέχεται.
» \ if Ὧν > / Α΄ ἐξ \ Ν
ςἄτοπον δὴ γίνοιτ᾽ ἄν, εἰ συμμεταβάλλοι καὶ 6 τεθνεὼς καὶ
γίνοιτο ὁτὲ μὲν εὐδαίμων πάλιν δ᾽ ἄθλιος. ἄτοπον δὲ καὶ
~ ~ ΄
τὸ μηδὲν μηδ᾽ ἐπί τινα χρόνον συνικνεῖσθαι τὰ τῶν ἐκγό-
~ ~ > ® 9 ’ " A [4 >

ὄνων τοῖς γονεῦσιν. ἀλλ᾽ ἐπανιτέον ἐπὶ τὸ πρότερον ἀπο-
ἜΑ Thea θέ Rs Ν a 4 bel: \ Ἂ tee Oe 6 , ἐξ

x, fd ρηθέν, τάχα γὰρ dv θεωρηθείη καὶ τὸ νῦν ἐπιξητούμενον ἐ
é εἰ δὴ τὸ τέλος ὁρᾶν ae: καὶ τότε μακαρίζειν
ἕκαστον οὐχ ὡς ὄντα μακάριον ἀλλ᾽ ὅτι πρότερον ἦν, πῶς
> ” ih s ΞΕ. > \ > , Ἁ > 7 >

οὐκ ἄτοπον, εἰ ὅτ᾽ ἐστὶν εὐδαίμων, μὴ ἀληθεύσεται κατ'
αὐτοῦ τὸ ὑπάρχον διὰ τὸ μὴ βούλεσθαι τοὺς ζῶντας εὐδαι-
μονίζειν διὰ τὰς μεταβολάς, καὶ διὰ τὸ μόνιμόν τι τὴν
κει εὐδαιμονίαν ὑπειληφέναι καὶ μηδαμῶς εὐμετάβολον, τὰς δὲ

> /
7 EXELYOU.

age, and died accordingly,’ κατὰ
λόγον, ‘in the same ratio;’ cf. below,
δ 15.

δῆλον δ᾽ ---ἐνδέχεται] ‘ And it is plain
that by gradual steps of removal (τοῖς
ἀποστήμασι) the descendants may
stand in an infinite variety of rela-
tionships to their ancestors.’ ἔκγονοι
apparently answer to the ὅλως ἀπό-
γονοι in the preceding section. The
Paraphrast omits the sentence. The
Scholiast gives πρὸς τοὺς γονεῖς τῶν
ἀπογόνων ἀπόστασιν πολυειδῆ εἶναι καὶ
ποικίλην ἀναγκαῖόν ἐστιν.

ς ἄτοπον δὴ--- γονεῦσιν͵]!: ‘It would
be absurd, therefore, if the dead should
change in sympathy with them, and
become at one time happy, and then
again wretched. But it would be
absurd also that the fortunes of the
descendants should affect the ancestors
in nothing, and not for some time at
least,’ i.e. after death. The second
part of this sentence, pronounced so
strongly as it is, seems to contradict
what one would have supposed to be
Aristotle’s philosophical creed. But
he is here speaking from the popular
point of view, and states strongly the
two sides of the difficulty that presents

itself. The question as to the dead
being influenced by this world is not
one that belongs properly to ethics.
Aristotle seems inclined to accept the
common belief on the subject (cf. 1. xi.
I, I. xi. 6), but to modify it so as to
leave it unimportant.

6 ‘But let us return to the former
difficulty, for perhaps the clue to our”
present question also may be dis-
covered from it.’ τὸ πρότερον ἀπορηθέν
is not a very accurate expression.
Aristotle, when he stated the question
now reverted to, εἰ δεῖ τὸ τέλος Spay,
gave it two meanings, and showed the
impossibility of holding the first, and
the difficulty that attached even to the
second. He now says ‘let us go back
to the former difficulty.” What he
means, however, is clear enough. He
means to say, ‘may we not after all
set aside the caution of Solon in what-
ever way it is stated? May we not
predicate happiness in the present as
well as retrospectively? By settling
the question as far as the present life
goes, we may perhaps get some light
as to the security or insecurity of the
dead.’

7 τὰς δὲ τύχας πολλάκις Gyaxu-

X.] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I. 387

τύχας πολλάκις ἀνακυκλεῖσθαι περὶ τοὺς αὐτούς ; δῆλον 8
γὰρ ὡς εἰ συνακολουθοίημεν ταῖς τύχαις, τὸν αὐτὸν εὐδαί-
μονα καὶ πάλιν ἄθλιον ἐροῦμεν πολλάκις, χαμαιλέοντά
τινα τὸν εὐδαίμονα ἀποφαίνοντες καὶ σαθρῶς ἱδρυμιένον. ἢ 9
τὸ μὲν ταῖς τύχαις ἐπακολουθεῖν οὐδαμῶς ὀρθόν; οὐ γὰρ
ἐν ταύταις τὸ εὖ ἢ κακῶς, ἀλλὰ προσδεῖται τούτων ὁ ἀν-
θρώπινος βίος, καθάπερ εἴπαμεν, κύριαι δ᾽ εἰσὶν αἱ κατ᾽
ἀρετὴν ἐνέργειαι τῆς εὐδαιμονίας, αἱ δ᾽ ἐναντίαι τοῦ ἐναν-
τίου. μαρτυρεῖ δὲ τῷ λόγῳ καὶ τὸ νῦν διαπορηθέν.
οὐδὲν γὰρ οὕτως ὑπάρχει τῶν ἀνθρωπίνων ἔ ἔργων βεβαιότης! τ
εἧς περὶ τὰς ἐνεργείας. τὰς κατ᾽ ἀρετήν" μονιμώτεραι "γὰρ a seeps Ἢ 18600)
καὶ τῶν ἐπιστημῶν αὗται δοκοῦσιν εἶναι. τούτων δ᾽ αὐτῶν BS | och.
αἱ τιμιώταται μονιμώταται διοὶ τὸ μάλιστα καὶ συνεχέ- ὧν a. Φ, cert

περὶ το, 19

GTATA καταζῆν ἐν αὐταῖς

τοὺς μακαρίους " τούτο γὰρ

κλεῖσθαι περὶ τοὺς αὐτούς] ‘And be-
cause fortune makes many revolutions
around the same individuals.’ Various
expressions of this sentiment are
quoted from the Classics. The most
beautiful is that which occurs in Soph.
Trachini@, 127, ἀλλ᾽ ἐπὶ πῆμα καὶ χαρὰ
Πᾶσι κυκλοῦσιν, οἷον ἄρκτου στροφάδες
κέλευθοι.

8 χαμαιλέοντα---καὶ σαθρῶς ἱδρυ-
μένον] It has been remarked that
these words form an iambic line, pro-
bably quoted from some play.

9 ἢ τὸ μὲν---ἐναντίου] ‘ Rather,
to follow chances is altogether a mis-
take, for good or evil resides not in
these, but human life, as we have said,
requires them as an external con-
dition ; while what determines happi-
ness is the rightly regulated nrental
consciousness, and vice versa.’

IO μαρτυρεῖ δὲ τῷ λόγῳ καὶ τὸ νῦν
διαπορηθ΄»] ‘And even the present
difficulty witnesses to our theory,’ ὁ.6.
the difficulty felt in predicating happi-
ness, except retrospectively, betrays a
latent sense that happiness must be
regarded as something more stable
than the fluctuations of fortune. Ari-

stotle finds out that this more stable

essence is to be found in his own con-

ception of happiness, since he has
placed it in the individual conscious~
ness, in that which is the life and soul
of the man himself.

περὶ οὐδὲν γὰρ----᾿λήθην] ‘ For about
nothing human is there so much stabi-
lity, as about the most excellent moods
of the consciousness, for these are
thought to be more abiding even than
the sciences. And the highest among
them are most abiding of all, because
the happy dwell in them most entirely
and continuously, which appears to
give the reason for their never being
forgotten.’ Itis one of the deepest
and most admirable parts of Aristotle’s
system, that he insists upon the sta-
bility and permanence of mental states.
Cf. Eth, vat. iii. 6, 7 δ᾽ ἀρετὴ μόνιμον.
Cf. also m1. v. 22, where he says that
‘we are masters of our actions, but
our habits are masters of us.’ v. ix.
14, ‘the just man cannot be unjust at
will,’ ὅο. ‘To speak indeed of human
ἐνέργειαι as μόνιμοι or συνεχεῖς is asort
of contradiction of Aristotle’s own
philosophy, cf. Zth. x. iv. 9 ; Metaph.

DD 2

tot Merely 1915 ,

“γα.

ΝΣ

888 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I. [Cuar.

ἘΝ δ - \ , ῇ \ 3. δ Aa)
TT εοίκεν αἰτίῳ TOU μὴ γίγνεσθαι περὶ αὐτοὶ ληθὴν.

ὑπάρξει

δὴ τὸ ζητούμενον τῷ εὐδαί ὶ ἔσται διὰ βίου τοιοῦ-
7 ζητούμενον τῷ εὐδαίμονι, καὶ , ὶ :
> \ ἡ U , /

Tos* ἀεὶ yap ἢ μάλιστα πάντων πράξει καὶ θεωρήσει τὰ
ΓΑ \ [4 ’

κατ᾽ ἀρετήν, καὶ τὰς τύχας οἴσει κάλλιστα καὶ πάντη πᾶν-
~ ~ \ U BA

τως ἐμμελῶς ὅ γ᾽ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἀγαθὸς καὶ τετράχωνος ἄνευ

Rucker ψόγου. πολλῶν δὲ γινομένων κατὰ τύχην καὶ διαφερόν-

των μεγέθει καὶ μικρότητι, τοὶ μὲν μικρὰ τῶν εὐτυχημάτων,
ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ τῶν ἀντικειμένων, δῆλον ὡς οὐ ποιεῖ ῥοπὴν
~ ~ VON if \ ‘\ , ἈΝ >
τῆς ζωῆς, τὰ δὲ μεγάλα καὶ πολλὰ γιγνόμενα μὲν εὖ μακα-
᾿ εὖ ~
ριώτερον Tov βίον ποιήσει (καὶ yap αὐτὰ cuverixoopely
« nw ~ ld
πέφυκεν, καὶ ἡ χρῆσις αὐτῶν καλὴ καὶ σπουδαία γίγνεται),
ἐνὰν σευ lec lhe ἀνάπαλιν δὲ συμβαίνοντα θλίβει καὶ λυμαίνεται τὸ μακά-

The more accurate
expression of his principle would be
to say that while the ’Evépyesa is per-
petually blooming out, and then dis-
appearing, the “Efis abides, and is
ever tending to reproduce the ἐνέργεια.
Life then may be regarded as a series
of vivid moments, with slight intervals
or depressions between, or again,
ideally, as a vivid moment of conscious-
ness, the intervals being left out of
sight. Cf. Essay IV. The ἐνέργεια
then 7s our life and being, and it would
be absurd to speak of forgetting this.
It is ‘more abiding than the sciences,’
ἢ. ὁ. than the separate parts of know-
ledge, which do not constitute the
mind itself. The opposition here is
not between the moral and intellectual
ἐνέργειαι, as we may see from § 11,
where it is said that ‘the required
stability will belong to the happy
man, for always, or mostly, he will act
and contemplate in accordance with
the law of his being.’ Σοφία, viewed
as a mood of the mind, is as abiding
as the moral qualities, and indeed
admits of more continuous exercise.
Cf. Eth. x. vii. 2.

περὶ αὐτά] (se. ἐνέργεια). Cf.
Eth. ττι. xii. 2, Pol. ντι. xiii. 3, where
there occur similar transitions to a
neuter pronoun.

vi. viii. 18.

11 ὅ γ᾽ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἀγαθὺς καὶ Terpd-
ywvos ἄνευ ψόγου] ‘He that is truly
good, and foursquare without a flaw.’
These terms are borrowed from Simo-
nides, They are quoted also, and dis-
cussed, in the Protagoras of Plato, p.
339: ἄνδρ᾽ ἀγαθὸν μὲν ἀλαθέως Γενέσθαι
χαλεπόν, χερσί τε καὶ ποσὶ καὶ νόῳ
Τετράγωνον, ἄνευ ψόγου τετυγμένον.
Cf. Rhetoric, m1. xi. 2: τὸν ἀγαθὸν
ἄνδρα φάναι εἶναι τετράγωνον, μεταφορά.
ἄμφω γὰρ τέλεια. Hor. Serm. τι. vii.
86: in seipso totus, teres atque ro-
tundus,

12 δῆλον ds—morhoet,x.7.A.] The
distinction between (wh and Bios is
hardly preserved. ‘Good fortunes, if
small, obviously do not alter the
balance of the life and feelings, but if
considerable, and coming in numbers,
they will make one’s condition more
blessed.’ Cf. Eth, rx. ix. 9.

kal yap αὐτὰ συνεπικοσμεῖν πέφυκε
‘For they naturally add a lustre.’ This
is said from the practical point of view,
which analyses happiness into the in-
ternal mood, and the external cireum-
stances. From the ideal point of view,
which takes happiness as a whole
(Eth, τ. vii. 8), nothing can be added to
it, or make it better.

ἀνάπαλιν 5&—peyardpxos] ‘While
contrary circumstances mar and deface

KI

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQON I.

389

lov’ λύπας Te γὰρ ἐπιφέρει καὶ ἐμποδίζει πολλαῖς ἐνερ-
P yap β a P

γείαις.

\ ΄ ,
ὅμως δὲ καὶ ἐν τούτοις διαλάμπει τὸ καλόν, ἐπει- *

dav Φέρη τις εὐκόλως πολλᾶς καὶ μεγάλας ἀτυχίας, μὴ δὲ
Pn τις BEY χ'ᾶς, μὴ

ἀναλγησίαν, ολλὰ γεννάδας ὧν καὶ μεγαλόψυχος.

εἰ δ᾽ τ3

ϑ-4 Ue nfl 2 7 ~ ΩΣ A v > \

εἰσὶν αἱ ἐνέργειαι κύριαι τῆς ζωῆς, καθάπερ εἴπομεν, οὐδεὶς
“Ὁ 4 ~ / + INP \ / Ἀ
ἂν γένοιτο τῶν μακαρίων ἄθλιος" οὐδέποτε γὰρ πράξει τὰ

μισητὰ καὶ Φαῦλα.

τὸν γὰρ ὡς ἀληθῶς ἀγαθὸν καὶ

vv , "7 \ 7 > ΄ , \

ἔμφρονα πάσας οἰόμεθα τὰς τύχας εὐσχημόνως φέρειν καὶ

ἐκ τῶν ὑπαρχόντων ἀεὶ τὰ κάλλιστα πράττειν, καθάπερ
\ A > Ν ~ / ‘> n

καὶ στρατηγὸν ἀγαθὸν τῷ παρόντι στρατοπέδῳ χρῆσθαι

πολεμικώτατα καὶ σκυτοτόμον ἐκ τῶν δοθέντων σκυτῶν
[4 » ce / ~ \ 3A Ν 7 \ A

κάλλιστον ὑπόδημα ποιεῖν" τὸν αὐτὸν δὲ τρόπον καὶ τοὺς

ΕΝ / «“
ἄλλους τε cat αποιντας.

εἰ δ᾽ οὕτως, “ἄθλιος μὲν οὐδέ- 14

TOTE γένοιτ᾽ ἂν ὃ εὐδαίμων, οὐ μὴν μακάριός γε: ἂν Πρι-

αμικαῖς τύχαις περιπέσῃ.

οὐδὲ δὴ ποικίλος γε καὶ εὐμετά-

βολος" οὔτε γὰρ ἐκ τῆς εὐδαιμονίας κινηθήσεται ῥᾳδίως,
PARES IA ~ ΄ > , > cae en αὶ , ‘
οὐ ὑπὸ τῶν τυχόντων ATUYYLATWY AAA ὑπὸ μεγάλων καὶ
-“ + ~ 7 x U /
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/ ~ iy 24
ἐν ὀλίγῳ χρόνῳ, ἀλλ᾽ εἴπερ, ἐν πολλῷ τινὶ καὶ τελείῳ, busy stadt.

felicity, by introducing pains, and often
hindering the play of the mind. But
nevertheless, even in these, what is
beautiful shines out, when one bears
easily many and great misfortunes,
not from insensibility, but from being
of a noble and magnanimous nature.’
In this place, and in Hth. m. ix. 4
(where he describes the brave man
voluntarily consenting to death), Ari-
stotle exhibits a high moral tone, quite
on a leyel with the Stoics, and which
places him above the accusation of
being a mere Eudzemonist.

13 εἰ δ᾽ εἰσὶν---φαῦλα] ‘Now if
life is determined by its moments of
consciousness, as we have said, no one
of the blessed will ever become mise-
rable, for he will never do what is
hateful and mean.’ μακάριος, which
is used repeatedly here and elsewhere,
is a more enthusiastic term than

εὐδαίμων. Though it is applied to
βίος in the previous section, it would
seem generally more applicable to the
internal feelings. By a false ety-
mology, £th, vu. xi. 2, it is connected
with χαίρειν. In the next section it
is predicated negatively of the εὐδαίμων.
‘The happy man can never become
miserable—not, however, that he will
retain his joyful state, if he falls into
the lot of Priam.’ But no very marked
distinction is kept up between eddal-
μων and μακάριος.

14 ἔκ τε τῶν τοιούτων---ἐπήβολοΞ]
‘And after such he cannot again be-
come happy in a short time, but if at
all, in a long and complete period,
having attained great and noblethings
in it. This shows that happiness,
being deep-seated, and depending on
the entire state of the mind (ts), is
neither lost nor won easily.

aker (9

tlics td

Vf ᾿ς
16 τίθεμεν πάντη πάντως.

1

990 HOIKQN ΝΙΚΟΜΑΧΕΙΩΝ I.

az Lr \ ~~ 5» 5 ~ as th » A}
τς μεγάλων καὶ καλῶν EY αὐτῷ γενόμενος ἐπηβολος.

[ Crap.

τί οὖν

΄ / > A ‘ >> \ / 3 ~
κωλύει λέγειν εὐδαίμονα TOY KAT ἀρετὴν τελείαν ἐνεργουνταὰ
\ ~ ~ ~ Ἁ ‘
καὶ τοῖς ἐκτὸς ἀγαθοῖς ἱκανῶς κεχο ένον, μὴ τὸν TU-
2 / > \ / If Ἂ , \
χόντα χρόνον ἀλλὰ τέλειον βίον ; ἢ προσθετέον καὶ βιω-
, «, ‘ \
σόμενον οὕτω καὶ τελευτήσοντα κατὰ λόγον; ἐπειδὴ TO
/ ~ 4
μέλλον ἀφανὲς ἡμῖν, τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν δὲ τέλος καὶ τέλειον

εἰ δ᾽ οὕτω, μακαρίους ἐροῦμεν τῶν

’ ‘4 ε ΄ Ne , Ν , ί
ζώντων οἷς ὑπάρχει καὶ ὑπάρξει τὰ λεχθέντα, μακαρίους

Ὁ» Ἂν 7
ὃ ἀνβρώπους.

Kal περὶ μὲν τούτων ἐπὶ τοσοῦτον διωρίσθω, τὰς δὲ

~ > , ΄ \ ~ , ε , \ 2 ‘
TOY ἀπογόνων τύχας καὶ τῶν Φίλων ἁπάντων TO μὲν
μηδοτιοῦν συμβάλλεσθαι λίαν ἄφιλον φαίνεται καὶ ταῖς
Ν ΕἸ “ b*

2 δόξαις ἐναντίον " πολλῶν δὲ καὶ παντοίας ἐχόντων διαφορὰς

15 τί οὖν---πάντω5] “ What hinders
then to call him happy, who is in the
fruition of absolute harmony of mind
and is furnished sufficiently with ex-
ternal goods—not for a casual period,
but an absolute lifetime? or must one
add—* and who shall live on so and
die accordingly ”—since the future is
uncertain to us, and we assume hap-
piness to be an End-in-itself and some-
thing absolute in every possible way?’
τέλειος, as before said, has two asso-
ciations; one popular, with the com-
mon sense of τέλος, and thus means
‘complete,’ or ‘perfect ;’ the other,
philosophic, with the End-in-itself,
and thus means that which is in and
for itself desirable, that in which the
mind finds satisfaction, the absolute.
The word here seems to hover between
its two meanings. Aristotle probably
was not conscious of the collision
between the frequent use of τέλειον
here and the question to which this
chapter is an answer—ei χρὴ τὸ τέλος
ὁρᾶν.

16 εἰ δ᾽ οὕτω--- ἀνθρώπους] ‘If so,
we shall call those happy during their
lifetime, who have and shall have the
qualities mentioned, but still happy as

men only.’ Solon’s view, which had
rested on a too great regard to external
fortune, is accordingly superseded.
Happiness viewed from the inside—
from its most essential part—may be
predicated of the living, though still
with a reserve, since they are still
subject to the conditions of humanity.

XI. 1 He returns to the question
before incidentally mooted (1. x. 4),
whether the happiness of the dead
can be affected by the vicissitudes of
the world they have left. He will
not altogether deny that some con-
sciousness of events may reach the
dead, but without determining this he
argues that in any case the impres-
sion produced by them must be too
slight and unimportant to affect our
notion of the dead.

ταῖς δόξαις ἐναντίον) In the so-called
Menexenus of Plato (p. 248 B) we
find this opinion stated in a wavering
form.—(The dead are supposed to ad-
dress their surviving parents) δεόμεθα
δὴ καὶ πατέρων καὶ μητέρων τῇ αὐτῇ
ταύτῃ διανοίᾳ χρωμένους τὸν ἐπίλοιπον
βίον διάγειν, καὶ εἰδέναι ὅτι οὐ θρηνοῦντες
οὐδέ ὀλοφυρόμενοι ἡμᾶς ἡμῖν μάλιστα

XI.] HOEIKQN NIKOMAXEIQON 1. 391

τῶν συμβαινόντων, καὶ τῶν μὲν μᾶλλον συνικνουμένων τῶν

δ᾽ ἧττον, καθ᾿ ἕκαστον μὲν διαιρεῖν μακρὸν καὶ ἀπέραν-

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τέροις ἔοικεν, οὕτω καὶ TA περὶ τοὺς Φίλους ὁμοίως ἅπαν- fay Wires

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προὔπαρχειν ἐν ταῖς τραγωδίαις ἢ πράττεσθαι, συλλογι-

στέον δὴ καὶ ταύτην τὴν διαφοράν, μᾶλλον δ᾽ ἴσως τὸ 5 Nhe up referee:

διαπορεῖσθαι περὶ τοὺς κεκμηκότας εἴ τινος ἀγαθοῦ κοινω- 7 sis GW les a
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χαρ 7

λευτηκόσιν αἴσθησις τῶν ζώντων, οὕτως
ἀχάριστοι εἶεν ἂν μάλιστα, κ. τ.λ.

3—4 εἰ δή---διαφοράν] There is a
complex protasis, (1) εἰ δή, (2) διαφέρει
δέ. The apodosis to both is συλλο-
γιστέον δή. The argument is, that we
must bear in mind the difference: (1)
between misfortunes in themselves,
light and heavy; (2) between those,
of whatever kind, happening in our
lifetime and after our death. ‘If, then,
it is the same case with regard to the
misfortunes attaching to the circle of
one’s friends as it is with those attach-
ing to oneself, namely, that some have
a certain weight and influence upon
life, while others seem lighter ; and if,
again, there is a difference between
the impression made by events on the
living and on the dead far greater
than that between crimes and horrors
enacted upon the stage or only alluded
to in tragedies ; we must, I say, take
account of this difference.’

mpoimapxew—t πράττεσθαι) The
contrast is that between the actual re-
presentation of horrors, or the mention
of them, as ‘presupposed,’ and done
off the stage. It is merely the prin-
ciple of Horace. A, P. 181.

συλλογιστέον] This cannot mean

proposition would form both the pre-
mises and the conclusion; but ‘we}
must take account of,’ ἐ,6. we must}
make ‘this difference’ part of the!
premises we have to go upon in all|
reasonings about the dead. The word |
is used, not in its technical Aristo-
telian, but rather in its earlier and
natural sense, according to which it
meant ‘to put together the grounds of
an argument.’ Cf. Plato, Charmides,
p. 160, Ὁ: πάντα ταῦτα συλλογισάμενος
The Paraphrast
here writes σκεπτέον οὖν περὶ τῆς δια-
φορᾶς.

5 μᾶλλον δ᾽ ἴσω----ἀντικειμένων} ‘Or
rather, perhaps’ (we must take into
account, συλλογιστέον understood), ‘the
fact that a question is raised about the
dead, as to whether they share at allin
good orevil.’ A difficulty has been made
about τὸ διαπορεῖσθαι. ‘Lambinus ex
Vet. Int. et Argyrop. emendat τόδε
δεῖ, eamque lectionem Zwinger in tex-
tum recepit, que hactenus commenda-
tur, quia sequenti διά absorberi facile
poterat δέ et d¢7.’—Zell. The conjec-
ture is supported by the rendering of
the Paraphrast, who separates this
clause from the preceding one. σκε-
πτέον οὖν περὶ τῆς διαφορᾶς. βέλτιον

εἰπὲ εὖ καὶ ἀνδρείως.

392 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIOQON I. [ Cuap.

διικνεῖται πρὸς αὐτοὺς ὁτιοῦν, εἴτ᾽ ἀγαθὸν εἴτε τοὐναντίον,

fet ΤΣ 4 ἀφαυρόν τι καὶ μικρὸν 7 READS ἢ ἐκείνοις εἶναι, εἰ δὲ μή,
τοσοῦτόν γε καὶ τοιοῦτον ὥστε μὴ ποιεῖν εὐδαίμονας τοὺς

6 μὴ ὄντας μηδὲ τοὺς ὄντας ἀφαιρεῖσθαι τὸ μακάριον. oop

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ἦλον γὰρ ὅτι τῶν γε δυνάμεων οὐκ ἔστιν.

ξίαι τῶν φίλων, ὁμοίως ὃὲ καὶ αἱ δυσπραξίαι, τοιαῦτα δὲ
Menai τηλικαῦτα ὥστε μήτε τοὺς εὐδαίμονας μὴ εὐδαίμονας
wpe ἐπι ἔς «(0 ποιεῖν μήτ᾽ ἄλλο τῶν τοιούτων μηδέν.

Διωρισμένων δὲ τούτων ἐπισκεψώμεθα περὶ τῆς εὐδαι-

Φαίνεται δὴ

δέ ἐστι σκέψασθαι εἰ κοινωνοῦσιν, K.T.A.

hy » feat te But against it these appear to be con-
Sige ΑΣ 5, &&lusive reasons: (1) The authority of
Vbe$ ha gle Z/MSS. (2) We should expect διαπορεῖν,

συμβάλλεσθαί τι] ‘to contribute,’
or ‘communicate something.’ Cf, Eth.
mt. i. 12: μηδὲν συμβαλλομένου τοῦ
βιασθέντος. X. X. 19.

yee /,#nd that the sentence should stand
ΓΈ “ἄρ. μᾶλλον δ᾽ ἴσως τόδε δεῖ διαπορεῖν. XII. The question which occupies
, (3) The alteration would really alter | this chapter, namely, in which class

and spoil the context. Aristotle does
not say ‘Perhaps after all we had
better start the question anew, whe-
ther the dead are conscious of events.’
This would contradict § 6. He only
says, ‘ While granting the hypothesis
that they do feel, we must take into
account the element of doubt which
still continues to attach to the subject.’

6 This section was pronounced sus-
pect by Victorius on account of its
being a mere repetition and summing
up of former conclusions. He says
it is wanting in some MSS., and that
it may be a scholium, though a very
old one. In favour of its genuineness
we may urge that it is quite in Ari-
stotle’s manner. Cf. Eth, mt. vy. 22.
It is found in all Bekker’s MSS., with
the exception of the words τῶν φίλων,
ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ af δυσπραξίαι; which are
omitted in two, the omission being
obviously due to the similarity of
εὐπραξίαι and δυσπραξίαι. It is also
recognised by the Paraphrast and
Eustratius.

of goods happiness is to be placed,
the admirable or the praiseworthy ? is
one that appears of little ethical in-
terest, to have no important scientific
bearing, in short, to degenerate into a
sort of trifling. Aristotle, however,
who aims at verbal precision and dis-
tinctness, and again, who wishes to
reconcile his theory with all questions,
doctrines, and forms of language of
the day, appears to have thought it
worth a passing consideration. We
may regard the present question as
the last of that series of collateral
questions growing out of his defi-
nition of happiness. It is answered
by being stated; for the Chief Good
and the Absolute must necessarily
be above praise, which is only given
to the relatively, not to the absolutely
good,

1 δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι τῶν γε δυνάμεων οὐκ
ἔστιν] ‘For it is plain that it is ποῦ ἃ
merely potential good.’ This implies
a classification of goods into (1) poten-
tial, (2) actual, which latter are sub-

XI.—XII.] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQON I. 393

~ \ n ’ὔ x
πᾶν TO ἐπαινετὸν τῷ ποιόν τι εἶναι καὶ πρός τί πως ἔχειν
~ \ \ \ ~ ¥
ἐπαινεῖσθαι" τὸν yao δίκαιον καὶ τὸν ανδρεῖον καὶ ὅλως
Ἁ 3 ἈἉ A ᾿ς ᾿ Ἁ > ~ 4, ᾿ , A
τὸν ἀγαθὸν καὶ τὴν ἀρετὴν ἐπαινοῦμεν διὰ τὰς πράξεις καὶ
\ + ae Wt a \ ae oes ὺ Η͂ Ἀν ΤῊΝ
TH ἐργα, καὶ τὸν ἰσχυρὸν καὶ τὸν ὄρομικον καὶ τῶν αλλων
isd ~ Ul , A Ν
ἕκαστον τῷ ποιὸν τινα πεφυκέναι καὶ ἔχειν πως πρὸς ἀγα-
~ nm ~ - A
hoy τι καὶ σπουδαῖον. δῆλον δὲ τοῦτο καὶ ἐκ τῶν περὶ
\ ~ \ , \ ~
τοὺς θεοὺς ἐπαίνων" γελοῖοι yap Φαίνονται πρὸς ἡμᾶς
» / ~ Ν , A XN / \
ἀναῷφερόμενοι, τοῦτο δὲ συμβαίνει διὰ τὸ γίνεσθαι τοὺς
> , > > ~ a Ba > 3 > \ €
ἐπαίνους OF ἀναφορᾶς, ὥσπερ εἴπαμεν. εἰ δ᾽ ἐστὶν ὁ
+ ~ ~ « ”
ἔπαινος τῶν τοιούτων, δῆλον ὅτι τῶν ἀρίστων οὐκ ἔστιν
4 ~ys \ ,
ἔπαινος, ἀλλὰ μεῖζόν τι καὶ βέλτιον, καθάπερ καὶ φαίνεται"
7 A A ~
τούς Te γὰρ θεοὺς μακαρίζομεν καὶ εὐδαιμονίζομιεν καὶ τῶν
» ~ A ,ὔ ὔ « 7ὔ xX " ~
ἀνδρῶν τοὺς θειοτάτους μακαρίζομεν. ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ τῶν
> ~ > A A A IN ta s ~ , Ἀ
ἀγαθῶν" οὐδεὶς γὰρ τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν ἐπαινεῖ καθάπερ τὸ
Ns 4 ~
δίκαιον, ἀλλ᾽ ὡς θειότερον τι καὶ βέλτιον μακαρίζει. δοκεῖ
Ν \ my ~ im he , ee
02 καὶ Εὔδοξος καλῶς συνηγορῆσαι περὶ τῶν ἀριστείων τῇ
«Ὁ “ QA 5 ~ nw ~ re 7
ἡδονῇ" τὸ yap μὴ ἐπαινεῖσθαι τῶν ἀγαθῶν οὖσαν μηνύειν
57 “ 7 ~ ~ -“
ὦετο ὅτι κρεῖττόν ἐστι τῶν ἐπαινετῶν, τοιοῦτον δ᾽ εἶναι
4, . \ > ’ \ ~ ἈΝ \ > >
τὸν θεὸν καὶ τἀγαβόν" πρὸς ταῦτα γὰρ καὶ ταλλα ἄνα-
,ὔ ΕἸ ~ ε A
φέρεσθαι. ὃ μὲν γὰρ ἔπαινος τῆς ἀρετῆς" πρακτικοὶ

divided into praiseworthy and admi-
rable. There is a complete commen-
tary on the present passage to be

Eth, x. viii. 7. Hence, in the ‘ Te
Deum laudamus,’ laudare is used in a
different sense from ἐπαινεῖν.

found in the Magna Moralia, τ. ii. τ:
Ἐπεὶ δ᾽ ὑπὲρ τούτων διώρισται, πειρα-
θῶμεν λέγειν, τἀγαθὸν ποσαχῶς λέγεται.
Ἔστι γὰρ τῶν ἀγαθῶν τὰ μὲν τίμια, τὰ
δ᾽ ἐπαινετά, τὰ δὲ δυνάμεις. τὸ δὲ τίμιον
λέγω τὺ τοιοῦτον, τὸ θεῖον, τὸ βέλτιον,
οἷον ψυχή, νοῦς, τὸ ἀρχαιότερον, ἣ ἀρχή,
τὰ τοιαῦτα. ... τὰ δὲ ἐπαινετὰ οἷον
ἀρεταί...
(rule), πλοῦτος, ἰσχύς, κάλλος" τούτυις
γὰρ καὶ ὃ σπουδαῖος εὖ ἂν δύνηται χρή-
σασθαι καὶ 6 φαῦλος κακῶς, διὸ δυνάμει
τὰ τοιαῦτα καλοῦνται ἀγαθά...
λοιπὸν δὲ καὶ τέταρτον τῶν ἀγαθῶν τὸ
σωστικὸν καὶ ποιητικὸν ἀγαθοῦ, οἷον
γυμνάσια ὑγιείας καὶ εἴ τι ἄλλο τοιοῦτον.
3 γελοῖοι γὰρ φαίνονται] se. of θεοί,

. . τὰ δὲ δυνάμεις, οἷον ἀρχή

διὰ τὸ γίνεσθαι τοὺς ἐπαίνους δι᾽
ἀναφορᾶς] * Because praise is made by
a reference to some higher standard.’

ς δοκεῖ δέ --- ἀναφέρεσθαι) ‘Now
Eudoxus also seems to have well
pleaded the claims of pleasure to the
first prize, for he argued that its not
being praised, although it is a good,
shows that it is above the class of
things praiseworthy, as God and the
chief good are, to whom all other
things are referred.’ On Eudoxus see
Eth, x. ii. 1—2, Essay III. p. 169.
The metaphor of the Aristeia here
seems borrowed from the Philebus of
Plato, p. 22 Ὁ: ᾿Αλλὰ μὴν, ὦ Σώκρατες,
ἔμοιγε δοκεῖ νῦν μὲν ἡδονή σοι πεπτω-

EE

3

394

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIOQN I.

[ Crap.

γὰρ τῶν καλῶν ἀπὸ ταύτης" τὰ δ᾽ ἐγκώμια τῶν ἔργων
7 ὁμοίως καὶ τῶν σωματικῶν καὶ τῶν ψυχικῶν. ἀλλὰ ταῦτα
μὲν ἴσως οἰκειότερον ἐξακριβοῦν τοῖς περὶ τὰ ἐγκώμια
πεπονημένοις, ἡμῖν δὲ δῆλον ἐκ τῶν εἰρημένων ὅτι ἐστὶν ἡ

ὐὸ ΄ ~ f \ /
8 EUOKILOVIA τῶν τιμίων καὶ τελείων.

3 > 4 35,
ἔοικε δ᾽ οὕτως ἔχειν

καὶ διὰ τὸ εἶναι ἀρχή" ταύτης γὰρ χάριν τὰ λοιπὰ πάντα
πάντες πράττομεν, τὴν ἀρχὴν δὲ καὶ τὸ αἴτιον τῶν ἀγαθῶν

Tinsoy τι καὶ θεῖον τίθεμεν.

13 ᾿Επεὶ δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἡ εὐδαιμονία ψυχῆς ἐνέργειά τις κατ᾽

κέναι καθαπερεὶ πληγεῖσα ὑπὸ τῶν νῦν
δὴ λόγων: τῶν γὰρ νικητηρίων πέρι
μαχομένη κεῖται.

6 Praise is of qualities: ‘encomia
are for achievements, whether bodily
or mental,’ Cf. Rhetoric, 1. ix. 33,
where the same distinction is given:
ἔστι δ᾽ ἔπαινος λόγος ἐμφανίζων μέγεθος
. τὸ δ᾽ ἐγκώμιον τῶν ἔργων
. . διὸ καὶ ἐγκωμιάζομεν πράξαν-

K.T.A,

ἀρετῆς...
ἐστίν.
τας. τὰ δὲ ἔργα σημεῖα τῆς ἕξεώς ἐστιν,
ἐπεὶ ἐπαινοῖμεν ἂν καὶ μὴ πεπραγότα εἰ
Cf. Eth.
Td μὲν γὰρ ἐγκώμιον λόγος
. 68 εὐδαι-

πιστεύοιμεν εἶναι τοιοῦτον.
Lud, π. i.
τοῦ κοθ᾽ ἕκαστον ἔργου...
μονισμὸς τέλους.

7 ἀλλὰ ---πεπονημένοι.] ‘But per-
haps to go into the details of the
subject belongs more properly to the
writers on encomia.’ πεπονημένοις, a
deponent form, as in Eth. τ, xiii. 2.
Encomia, in the hands of the Sophists,
seem to have become a complete
branch of literature, so as to have
been treated as a separate art with its
own proper rules.

8 ἔοικε δ᾽.---τίθεμεν͵)]Ὶ ‘And this
seems also the case from its being a
principle ; for we all do all things else
for the sake of this. Now the prin-
ciple and the cause of goods we assume
to be something admirable and divine.’
The two senses of ἀρχή---ἀρχὴ οὐσίας
and ἀρχὴ γνώσεως (cf. Metaph. rv. xvii.
2), the origin of being and the origin of

knowing—the cause and the reason—
seem here to flow together. Happi-
ness, or the practical chief good, is
the ἀρχή of life, as being the final
cause or τέλος, In this sense ἀρχή and
τέλος, the first and the last, become
identical, But the idea of happiness
when apprehended becomes an ἄρχή
in another way, namely, a major pre-
mise or principle for action (Cf. Eth.
vi. xii. 10). When Aristotle speaks
of ‘something admirable and divine,
the principle and the cause of all
goods,’ he uses terms that approach
those of Plato with regard to the Idea
of Good, though his point of view is
different. Cf. Essay IIT.

XIII. With this chapter commences

a new division of the treatise, Ari-
stotle now opens the analysis of the
terms of his definition. If happiness
be ‘conscious life in conformity with
the law of absolute excellence,’ the
question arises, what this law of ex-
cellence is?—a question essentially
belonging to Politics. The answer to
this Aristotle gives by the aid of a
popular and empirical Psychology.
Without attempting to sound the
depths of the subject, he assumes, as
sufficient for his present purpose, a
threefold development of the internal
rinciple (ψυχή) into (1) the purely

hysical or vegetative, (2) the semi-

XII.—XIII.] HOEIKQN NIKOMAXEIQON I. 395

ἀρετὴν τελείαν, περὶ ἀρετῆς ἐπισκεπτέον. τάχα γὰρ
οὕτως av βέλτιον καὶ περὶ τῆς εὐδαιμονίας θεωρήσαιμεν.
~ DX Ne Ss 7 ἈΝ \ ΄’ ΄,
δοκεῖ δὲ καὶ ὁ κατ᾽ ἀλήθειαν πολιτικὸς περὶ ταύτην μάλιστα 2
~ \ 4 ~
πεπονῆσθαι" βούλεται yap τοὺς πολίτας ἀγαθοὺς ποιεῖν
καὶ τῶν νόμων ὑπηκόους. παράδειγμα δὲ τούτων ἔχομεν 3
τοὺς Κρητῶν καὶ Λακεδαιμονίων νομοθέτας, καὶ εἴ τινες
~ / ~ ~ e
ἕτεροι τοιοῦτοι γεγένηνται. εἰ δὲ τῆς πολιτικῆς ἐστὶν 74
/ a Nw a , > oN « ’ὔ A \ >
σκέψις αὕτη, δῆλον ὅτι γένοιτ᾽ ἂν ἡ ζήτησις κατὰ τὴν ἐξ
ἀρχῆς προαίρεσιν. περὶ ἀρετῆς δὲ ἐπισκεπτέον ἀνθρωπί- 5
νης δῆλον ὅτι. καὶ γὰρ τἀγαθὸν ἀνθρώπινον ἐζητοῦμεν
\ Bs > y > ’ » \ Ν / >
καὶ τὴν εὐδαιμονίαν ἀνθρωπίνην. ἀρετὴν δὲ λέγομεν ἀνῆρω- 6
/ \ ~ , ~ 6
πίνην οὐ THY τοῦ σώματος ἀλλὰ τὴν τῆς ψυχῆς" καὶ τὴν
> / Ν ~ Le 4 ’ 2 OV ~f? =o
εὐδαιμονίαν δὲ ψυχῆς ἐνέργειαν λέγομεν. εἰ δὲ ταῦθ᾽ οὕτως 7

rational or appetitive, (3) the purely 3 παράδειγμα δὲ-- γεγένηνται] ‘As
rational. The first being excluded | an instance of this we have the law-
from all share in virtue, or human | givers of the Cretans and Lacedemo-
excellence properly so called; the | nians, and if there have been any
second is considered the sphere of | others such like.’ Aristotle seems to
moral, and the third that of intellec- | have inherited the preference felt by
tual virtue. This division regulates | Plato and by Socrates for the Spartan
the methodical arrangement of the | constitution; not so much as a his-
Ethics. Also it may be said to have | torical fact, but rather as a philoso-
regulated almost all subsequent human | phicalidea. It presented the scheme
thought on moral subjects. On Ari- | of an entire education for the citizens,
stotle’s general philosophy of the ψυχή | though Aristotle confesses that this

see Essay V. became degraded into a school for
2 δοκεῖ δὲ---ὑπηκόου5}] ‘This, too, | gymnastic.
seems to have been the main concern 5 περὶ ἀρετῆς δὲ ἐπισκεπτέον dvOpw-

of the true politician, for he wishes to | πίνης δῆλον ὅτι] ‘Now it is obviously
make the citizens good and obedient | about human excellence that we have
to the laws. As we find in Plato | to enquire.’ This passage would prove,
ἀλήθεια is the quality most character- | if it were necessary, the indeterminate
istic of the Ideas, so κατ᾽ ἀλήθειαν | sense with which the term ἀρετή is in-
here implies a thing being absolutely, | troduced into Aristotle’s Ethics. At
deeply, essentially what it is to the ex- | first it appears merely as the law of
clusion of all mere seeming. Thecon- | excellence, quite in a general signifi-
trast here would be to those πρακτικοὶ | cation, Afterwards this is gradually
πολιτικοί mentioned Eth, vi. viii. 2. | restricted to human excellence, and
Also to those historical and eminent | then physical or bodily excellence is
statesmen whom Plato attacks in the | finally excluded.

Gorgias, p. 515 Ὁ sq., as having been 7 εἰ δὲ ταῦθ᾽ ----ἰ.ατρικῆ5}] ‘But if
entirely devoid of this object—making | this be so, itis plain that the politician
the citizens better, must know in a way the nature of the

EE 2

396

HOIKOQN NIKOMAXEIQON 1.

[ Cuar.

3 - Ὁ ΩΣ \ Ν 7 Q
ἔχει, δῆλον ὅτι δεῖ τὸν πολιτικὸν εἰδέναι πως τὰ περὶ
Ψ᾽ κι \ \ > \ 7 ~
ψυχήν, ὥσπερ καὶ τὸν ὀφθαλμοὺς θεραπεύσοντα καὶ πᾶν
σῶμα, καὶ μᾶλλον ὅσω τιμιωτέρα καὶ βελτίων ἡ πολιτικὴ
μα, καὶ μᾶλλον ὅσῳ τιμιωτέ, ἡ ἢ

τῆς ἰατρικῆς.

~ wy > ~ ε / \
τῶν ὃ ἰατρῶν οἱ χαρίεντες πολλὰ πραγμιοι-
΄ “ ’ ~
8 TEVOYTOL περὶ τὴν τοῦ σώματος γνῶσιν.

θεωρητέον δὴ καὶ

τῷ πολιτικῷ περὶ ψυχῆς, θεωρητέον ὃὲ τούτων γάριν, καὶ
τῷ πολιτικῷ περὶ ψυχῆς, θεωρητέον δὲ χάριν, x

> ~
ἐφ᾽ ὅσον ἱκανῶς ἔχει πρὸς τὰ ζητούμενα" τὸ yap ἐπὶ
πλεῖον ἐξακριβοῦν ἐργωδέστερον ἴσως ἐστὶ τῶν προκειμένων.
9 λέγεται δὲ περὶ αὐτῆς καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἐξωτερικοῖς λόγοις

’΄ U A ’ 3 ~
ἀρκούντως ἔνια, καὶ χρηστέον αὐτοῖς.
x ψῳ Ν Ν 4G : ”
το αὐτῆς εἶναι, TO δὲ λόγον ἔχον.

- Ν Ν ”

οἷον TO μὲν ἄλογον
~ Ν tA a δ

ταῦτα δὲ πότερον διώρι-

σται καθάπερ τὰ τοῦ σώματος μόρια καὶ πᾶν τὸ μεριστόν,

ἢ τῷ λόγω δύο ἐστὶν ἀχώριστα πεφυκότα καθάπερ ἐν τῇ
5 ; \ \ \ Ν ~ IAN , \

περιφερείᾳ τὸ κυρτὸν καὶ τὸ κοῖλον, οὐθὲν διαφέρει πρὸς

internal principle, just as he who is to
cure the eyes must know also the whole
body. And this holds good the more
in proportion as Politics is higher and
better than medicine. A different
interpretation is given by some com-
mentators ; thus Argyropulus, follow-
ing the scholium of Eustratius, trans-
lates: ‘Quemadmodum et eum, qui
curaturus est oculos totumque corpus,
de ipsis scire oportet ;’ as if the ana-
logy between the ἰατρός and the πο-
λιτικός were this, that they both are
concerned to know the nature of that
which they propose to benefit. The
Paraphrast, however, takes it as above,
referring καὶ πᾶν σῶμα not to θερα-
πεύσοντα but to δεῖ εἰδέναι. That this
is the true interpretation is rendered
almost certain by a passage in Plato
( Charmides, p. 156 8), from which the
present comparison was in all proba-
bility taken: ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ tows ἤδη κα

σὺ ἀκήκοας τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἰατρῶν, ἐπειδά
τις αὐτοῖς προσέλθῃ τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς
ἀλγῶν, λέγουσί που, ὅτι οὐχ οἷόν τε
αὐτοὺς μόνους ἐπιχειρεῖν τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς

| τῶν ὀμμάτων εὖ ἔχειν " καὶ αὖ τὸ τὴν

κεφαλὴν οἴεσθαι ἄν ποτε θεραπεῦσαι
αὐτὴν ἐφ᾽ ἑαυτῆς ἄνευ ὅλου τοῦ σώματος
πολλὴν ἄνοιαν εἶναι. The general sense
here evidently is that as the oculist
must know to a certain extent the rest
of the body, so the politician, who has
not by any means to deal with the
whole of the ψυχή, must yet, in some
measure, know tts entire nature. This
knowledge, however, is to be limited
(§ 8) by a practical scope. With
χαρίεντες οἵ, De Sensu, i. 4: καὶ τῶν
ἰατρῶν of pirocopwrépws thy τέχνην
μετιόντες.

9. λέγεται--ἔχον] ‘Now even in
popular accounts certain points are
sufficiently stated with regard to the
internal principle, and we will avail
ourselves of them; as, for instance,
that part of it is irrational and part
rational.’ For an account of the
ἐξωτερικοὶ λόγοι, and for arguments
showing that they do not designate a
separate class of Aristotle’s own works,
see Appendix B to Essays.

10 ταῦτα δὲ---παρόν] ‘ But whether

ἰᾶσθαι, ἀλλ᾽ ἀναγκαῖον εἴη ἅμα καὶ τὴν | these are divided like the limbs ofthe

κεφαλὴν θεραπεύειν, εἰ μέλλοι καὶ τὰ | body, and all other divisible matter,

XU. | HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. 397

\ , ~ 3 / ἊΝ Ἀ \ 57 “ \ ~
τὸ παρόν. τοῦ ἀλόγου δὲ TO μὲν ἔοικε κοινῷ καὶ Φυτικῷ, τι
, ἊΝ Ν ” ~ / \ 5) \ We
λέγω δὲ τὸ αἴτιον τοῦ τρέφεσθαι καὶ αὔξεσθαι" τὴν τοιαύ-
~ ~ 4 ~
τὴν γὰρ δύναμιν τῆς ψυχῆς ἐν ἅπασι τοῖς τρεφομένοις θείη
x ~ 9 , \ ἂγ τ ἃ ΄ > ~
τις ἂν καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἐμβρύοις, THY αὐτὴν δὲ ταύτην καὶ ἐν τοῖς
if ͵ 7
ἄλλην τινά. ταύτης μὲν τ:
4 ai ΄ ~~ ~
ενθρωπίνη Φαίνεται" δοκεῖ
~ «“ ~ 7 \ ~
γὰρ ἐν τοῖς ὕπνοις ἐνεργεῖν μάλιστα τὸ μόριον τοῦτο καὶ τ

΄ > , Ν Ὁ
τελείοις" εὐλογώτερον γὰρ ἢ
iy ΄ > \ \ >
οὖν κοινὴ τις ἀρετὴ καὶ οὐκ

7 og ε > > Ν \ Ν oe , >
δύναμις αὕτη, ὃ δ᾽ ἀγαθὸς καὶ κακὸς ἥκιστα διάδηλοι καθ
“ a \ IO vd Δ Φ ~ / A
ὕπνον, ὅθεν φασὶν οὐδὲν διαφέρειν τὸ ἥμισυ τοῦ βίου τοὺς

3 , ~ > / / ἊΝ ~ κι Ὁ >
εὐδαίμονας τῶν ἀθλίων. συμβαίνει δὲ τοῦτο εἰκότως " ἀρ- 13

-“ ~ κ᾿
γία γάρ ἐστιν ὃ ὕπνος τῆς ψυχῆς ἡ λέγεται σπουδαία καὶ
‘\ ~ ~ #
ᾧΦαύλη, πλὴν εἴ wy, κατὰ μικρὸν διικνοῦνταί τινες τῶν κινή-
, ’ / ~
σεων, καὶ ταύτη βελτίω γίνεται τὰ φαντάσματα τῶν ἐπιει-

or whether they are only distinguish-
able in conception, while in nature
they are inseparable, like the concave
and conyex in the circumference of
a cirele, makes no difference for our
present purpose. The above-men-
tioned division of the ψυχή, which is
attributed to Plato, Magna Moralia,
I. i. 7, is attacked by Aristotle, De
Animd, τ. v. 26, and again, more de-
finitely, De Animd, m. ix.3. He here
avails himself of it as popularly true,
though he indicates also that from a
higher point of view it will not hold
good—that at all events it is a dis-
tinction and not a division. See
Essay V.

11 τοῦ ἀλόγου---τινά] ‘Now of the
irrational division part appears common
and vegetative, I mean that which is
the cause of nourishment and growth ;
for this sort of power of the internal
principle one must assume as existing
in all things that are nourished, and
even in embryos, and this same also
in full-grown creatures, for it is more
reasonable to suppose this than any
other to be the cause of nutriment and
growth.’ To τὸ μὲν ἔοικε κοινῷ corres-
pond the words (§ 15), Ἔοικε δὲ καὶ ἄλλη

τις φύσις, «.7.A, Aristotle first makes
the irrational side double. Afterwards
(8 19), he says that, viewing it diffe-
rently, you may call the rational two-
fold. κοινῷ, ὁ. 6., ‘not distinctive of
man.’ τελείοις is used in the non-phi-
losophical sense. Aristotle’s psy-
chology is of course constructed upon
a physical basis. The principle of life
developes itself into perception and
reason, but the lower modes of it are
necessary conditions to the higher,
and exist in them. So Dryden says
(Palamon and Arcite, m1. sub fin.)
that man is ἐ

‘First vegetive, then feels, and reasons

last ;
Rich of three souls, and lives all three
to waste.’
12—13 ‘Now excellence in this

respect seems common, and not pe-
culiarly human; for this part or
faculty seems to operate especially in
sleep, and the good and the bad are
least distinguishable in sleep. Hence
they say that for the half of life the
happy are no better off than the
wretched. Now this result is as might
have been expected, for sleep is an in-
action of the internal principle, viewed

Τὶ
A Pant

ie

PM eee ,
14 κῶν ἢ τῶν τυχόντων.

ἢ ΚΞ

16

398 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION 1. [ Cuap,

ἀλλὰ περὶ μὲν τούτων ἅλις, καὶ τὸ
θρεπτικὸν ἐατέον. ἐπειδὴ τῆς ἀνθρωπικῆς ἀρετῆς ἄμοιρον
πέφυκεν. γξοικε δὲ καὶ ἄλλη τις Φύσις τῆς ψυχῆς ἄλογος
εἶναι, μετέχουσα μέντοι πὴ λόγου. τοῦ γὰρ ἐγκρατοῦς
καὶ ἀκρατοῦς τὸν λόγον καὶ τῆς Ψυχῆς τὸ λόγον ἔχον
᾽παινοῦμεν" ὀρθῶς γὰρ καὶ ἐπὶ τὰ βέλτιστα παρακαλεῖ"
φαίνεται δ᾽ ἐν αὐτοῖς καὶ ἄλλο τι παρὰ τὸν λόγον πεῷυ-
κός͵ ὃ μάχεταί τε καὶ ἀντιτείνει τῷ λόγω. ἀτεχνῶς γὰρ
καθάπερ τὰ παραλελυμένα τοῦ σώματος μόρια εἰς τὰ δεξιὰ
προαιρουμένων κινῆσαι τοὐναντίον εἰς τὰ ἀριστερὰ Tapa
φέρεται, καὶ ἐπὶ τῆς ψυχῆς οὕτως" ἐπὶ τἀναντία γὰρ αἱ

ὁρμαὶ τῶν ἀκρατῶν.

GAN ἐν τοῖς σώμασι μὲν ὁρῶμεν τὸ

as something morally good or bad,
except so far as certain impulses may
to a trifling extent reach it, and in this
way the visions of the good will be
better than those of the common sort.’
The physical principles here enun-
ciated are stated at length in the
interesting treatises De Somno et
Vigiiid, De Insomniis, et De Divina-
tione per Somnum, which occur among
Aristotle’s Parva Naturalia, It may
be sufficient now to allude to his de-
finition of sleep and its cause (De
Somno iii. 30)—that it is a sort of ca-
talepsy of the consciousness, caused
by the rising of the vital warmth so as
to clog the perceptive organ, and re-
sulting necessarily from the functions
of animal life, which its object is to
preserve, by providing a rest for them.
He speaks also (De Somno i. 15) of
the nutritive particle performing its
office more during sleep than wak-
ing, ‘since creatures grow most dur-
ing sleep.’ In his discussions about
dreams we find a frequent recurrence
of the words here used, κινήσειΞ---δι-
ικνοῦνται --- φαντάσματα. He defines
ἃ dream to be ‘that image resulting
from the impulsion of the sensations
which arises insleep, and is dependent
on the peculiar conditions of sleep.’

(De Insom, iii. 19) τὸ φάντασμα τὸ
ἀπὸ Tis κινήσεως τῶν αἰσθημάτων ὅταν
ἐν τῷ καθεύδειν 7, ἧ καθεύδει, τοῦτ᾽
In his excellently
wise treatise on prophetic dreams he
seems especially to dwell upon the
fact that in dreaming the moral dis-
tinctions between men are lost, hence
dreams cannot be sent by God. (i. 3)
τό τε γὰρ θεὸν εἶναι τὸν πέμποντα, πρὸς
τῇ ἄλλῃ ἀλογίᾳ, καὶ τὸ μὴ τοῖς βελτί-
στοις καὶ φρονιμωτάτοις ἀλλὰ τοῖς τυ-
χοῦσι πέμπειν ἄτοπον. (This is well
illustrated by Plato, Repubdlie rx. p.
571 Ο sqq-) In another place, how-
ever, he connects the illusions of
dreaming with the personal character,
just as the coward, he says, and the
lover would form different mistakes
about a distant object. (De Insom.
ii. 15). This last coincides with what
is said above about the φαντάσματα
τῶν ἐπιεικῶν. Cf. on dreams gene-
rally Aristotle’s Problemata, xxx.
xiv.
15—16 ἔοικε δέ---ἀντιβαῖνον͵ ‘But
there seems also to be another
nature in the internal principle which
is irrational, and yet ina way partakes
of reason. For in the continent and
the incontinent man we praise the
reason, and that within them which

ἐστὶν ἐνύπνιον.

XII]

παραῷφερόμενον, ἐπὶ δὲ τῆς ψυχῆς οὐχ ὁρῶμεν.

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION I.

899

ἴσως δ᾽

οὐδὲν ἧττον καὶ ἐν τῇ ψυχῆ νομιστέον εἶναί τι παρὰ τὸν
ΒΨ TTA) ee

4 > 4 7 5. 3 ~
λόγον, ἐναντιούμενον τούτῳ καὶ ἀντιβαῖνον.

οὐδὲν διαφέρει.

“ “
πῶς δ᾽ ἕτερον, 17

’ \ ~ te
λόγου δὲ καὶ τοῦτο Φαίνεται μετέχειν,

ὥσπερ εἴπομεν" πειθαρχεῖ γοῦν τῷ λόγῳ τὸ τοῦ ἐγκρα-

τοῦς.

Ν 7
καὶ τὸ ἄλογον διττόν. τὸ

ΕἸ 3 , ἧς > Ν ~ s \
ἔτι δ᾽ ἴσως εὐηκοώτερόν ἐστι τὸ τοῦ σώφρονος καὶ
ἀνδρείου" mavTa yap ὁμοφωνεῖ τῷ λόγω

P eT 9] gabe ride

7 \
Φαίνεται δὴ 18
Ν \ A LAN ~
μὲν yap duTixoy οὐδαμῶς

possesses reason, for this exhorts them
rightly, and to what is best; but
there appears also to be something
else in them besides the reason, which
fights and strives against the reason.
For just as paralysed limbs of the
body, when we mean to move them
to the right, go in the opposite direc-
tion to the left, so it is with the mind.
For the tendencies of the incontinent
are in the opposite direction to reason.
In the body we see the false movement,
but with regard to the mind we donot
see it. But perhaps not the less ought
we to believe that there is in the mind
something besides the reason which is
opposed to it, and goes against it.’
Zell mentions a conjecture, τοῦ γὰρ
ἐγκρατοῦς καὶ εὐκρατοῦς. But a slight
consideration of the context shows
that no change is required. It has
been said that this passage exhibits
the doctrine of ‘human corruption.’
To say this introduces a set of asso-
ciations foreign to Aristotle. Ari-
stotle’s remark (1) does not go so deep
as to the contrast between sin and
holiness, purity and corruption: (2)
it does not point out a radical and
incurable defect in the whole race of
man; on the contrary, he says pre-
sently that in the σώφρων ‘all things
are in harmony with reason.’ How-
ever, we may well esteem the present
observation, especially when first made,
as one of the most penetrating pieces

of moral psychology. Aristotle’s
purpose is to establish the existence
of a principle, μετέχον λόγου, which
is to be the sphere of the practical
virtues. This he exhibits in the case
of the continent and incontinent (7. e.
man ina state of moral conflict) as
opposing and fighting against the
reason. This is given as a fact of
nature. This same fact viewed from
the side of personal repentance might
be well expressed in the language of
St. Paul. Before attributing any-
thing like the above-mentioned doc-
trine to Aristotle, we should require
to examine the whole bearing of his
moral theories, instead of deciding
from an isolated passage.

17 πῶς δ᾽ ἕτερον, οὐδὲν διαφέρει]
This shows that Aristotle does not
propose here to seek deeply for the
rationale of these phenomena in our
moral nature.

ἔτι δ᾽ ἴσως--- λόγῳ] ‘And perhaps
it is still more obedient in the tempe-
rate and the brave. For in them all
things are in harmony with reason.’
In Book vu. the ἐγκρατής, who main-
tains virtue by a conflict, is opposed
to the σώφρων, in whom there is an
absolute harmony between the passions
and the reason. Here the ἀνδρεῖος
is added, as being one whose instincts
coincide with his reason. This place,
Book m1. yi.-xii., and Book vu., exhibit
different points of view.

I

\o

20

400 HOIKON NIKOMAXEION 1. [παρ᾿
~ , \ S79 \ + > ‘
κοινωνεῖ λόγου, τὸ δ᾽ ἐπιθυμητικὸν καὶ ὅλως ορεκτικον
~ ’,
μετέχει πως, ἢ κατήκοόν ἐστιν αὐτοῦ καὶ πειθαρχικόν.
a ΝΑ \ ~ . A ~ Λ Ν 3 ’
οὕτω δὴ καὶ τοῦ πατρὸς καὶ τῶν Φίλων Φαμὲν ἐχειν λόγον,
καὶ οὐχ ὥσπερ τῶν μαθηματικῶν. ὅτι δὲ πείθεταί πως
ὑπὸ λόγου τὸ ἄλογον, μηνύει καὶ ἡ νουθέτησις καὶ πᾶσα
“ /
ἐπιτίμησίς τε καὶ παράκλησις. εἰ δὲ χρὴ καὶ τοῦτο φάναι
ἊΝ Ud 5 ὃ \ 3, \ A aA 4 ” A A ,
όγον ἔχειν, διττὸν ἔσται καὶ TO λόγον ἔχον, τὸ μὲν κυρίως
~ A 3 ied ~ A > /
καὶ ἐν αὑτῷ, τὸ δ᾽ ὥσπερ τοῦ πατρὸς ἀκουστικόν τι. διο-
2 Ν . δ τ Ὁ \ ‘ \ + / ,
ρίζεται δὲ καὶ ἡ ἀρετὴ κατὰ τὴν διαφορὰν ταύτην" λέγο-
μεν γὰρ αὐτῶν τὰς μὲν διανοητικὰς τὰς δὲ ἠθικάς, σοφίαν
εν \ tf \ ’ ὃ lA > ῇ , δὲ
μὲν καὶ σύνεσιν καὶ φρόνησιν διανοητικάς, ἐλευθεριότητα

\ 7 ? 7
καὶ σωφροσύνην ἠθικάς.

, Ν \ ~ >
λέγοντες γὰρ περὶ τοῦ ἤθους οὐ

18 τὸ δ᾽ ἐπιθυμητικὸν--- μαθημα-
τικῶν] ‘But the appetitive part, and
generally speaking that which desires,
in a way partakes of reason, inas-
much as it is subject and obedient to
it. In like manner we speak of “‘ pay-
ing attention to” one’s father or one’s
friends, not in the same sense as we
speak of “ paying attention to” mathe-
matics. “Exew λόγον or μετέχειν
λόγου must be said of the passions in
a different way from that in which it
is said of the rational part of our
nature. Aristotle illustrates this by
adducing the use of ἔχειν λόγον with
a genitive, which exhibits also a shade
of variety in the meaning. With
ἔχειν λόγον πατρός, cf. Eurip. Alces-
tis, 51, ἔχω λόγον δὴ καὶ προθυμίαν
σέθεν.

τῶν μαθηματικῶν] here apparently
means, not ‘the mathematicians,’ as
Eth. 1. iii. 4, but ‘mathematics,’ as vt.
viii. 9. So it is taken by the Para-
phrast: Διττῶς δὲ λέγεται τὸ λόγον
μετέχειν καθάπερ καὶ τὸ λόγον ἔχειν.
Λέγομεν γὰρ τοῦ πατρὸς καὶ τῶν φίλων
λόγον ἔχειν, τὸ ἐπιστρέφεσθαι πρὸς ad-
τούς, καὶ οἷς κελεύουσιν ἐξακολουθεῖν.
λέγομεν δὲ καὶ τῶν μαθηματικῶν λόγον
ἔχειν, τὸ εἰδέναι αὐτὰ καὶ γνῶσίν τινα

καὶ ἐπιστήμην αὐτῶν ἔχειν. Partly
there is ἃ play on the words λόγον
ἔχειν, which it is impossible to trans-
late; and partly there is an analogy
between the obedience of the passion#
to the reason and the submission oné
pays to the advice of others; and, on
the other hand, between the purely
intellectual process of mathematical
study and the independent action of
the reason itself. It must not be for-
gotten, that the passage before us is
part of one of the earliest attempts at
a moral psychology.

20 διορίζεται--- λέγομεν] ‘ Accord-
ing to this division also is human
excellence divided. For we speak of
intellectual excellences, and moral
excellences; philosophy, intelligence,
and wisdom being intellectual, libe-
rality and temperance moral. For
when speaking of the moral character
we do not say that a man is philosophie
or intelligent, but that he is gentle or
temperate ; yet we praise the philoso-
phie man also, with regard to his
state of mind, and praiseworthy states
of mind we call excellences.’ The old

᾿ difficulty of translating less definite

ancient words into more definite
modern ones occurs here,~ Aristotle

XIII. ] HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQN 1. 401

, -“ ‘ x x κι ως Φ' fod aX la
λέγομεν ὅτι σοῷος ἢ συνετὸς AAA ὅτι πρᾶος ἢ σωῷρων,
> A A \ A Ν \ A “ ~~ “ AN
ἐπαινούμεν δὲ καὶ τὸν σοφὸν κατὰ τὴν ἕξιν" τῶν ἕξεων ὃὲ ἡ, onclest bles

Ν 3 A > Ἁ
TAG ἐπαινετὰς ἀρετὰς λέγομεν. hers Ft hep be
-. se ὋὋ);ῖ5;ῖς- τ OF νέων.

is founding the distinction between the
Intellectual and the Moral which has
lasted ever since. But he uses the
word ἀρετή as applicable to both
spheres, whereas the instinct of men,
whether rightly or wrongly, inclines
to confine the name of yirtue and the
award of praise to the moral side,—
to acts or states in which the will is
prominently exerted. On this point
we can trace a progress even in the
Peripatetic school, for while the sen-

tence ἐπαινοῦμεν δὲ καὶ τὸν σοφόν is
repeated in the Hudemian Ethics (τι. 1.
18), it is corrected in the Magna
Moralia (1. v. 3), κατὰ γὰρ ταύτας
ἐπαινετοὶ λεγόμεθα, κατὰ δὲ τὰς τοῦ
τὸν λόγον ἔχοντος οὐδεὶς ἐπαινεῖται"
οὔτε γὰρ ὅτι σοφός, οὐδεὶς ἐπαινεῖται,
οὔτε ὅτι φρόνιμος, οὐδ᾽ ὅλως κατά τι τῶν
The last line in the
first Book contains an anticipation of
much that is demonstrated in Books
II. and ΠῚ,

τοιούτων οὐθέν.

FF

PLAN OF BOOK II.

HE Second Book of the Ethics goes far to determine the
course of the entire succeeding work, by laying down a
programme of the separate moral virtues, which is afterwards
followed in Books III. and IV.; and by suggesting for future
consideration the conceptions of Ὀρθὸς Λόγος and of Προαίρεσις.
But it cannot be said that this book itself exhibits traces of pre-
conceived arrangement or artistic design. On the contrary, it
bears the same tentative character as Book I. Its parts are at
first confused with each other, and design seems only to grow up
as the book proceeds. Its contents may be arranged under the
following heads :—

(1.) A preliminary discussion on the formation of moral states.
Ch. I.—IV.

(2.) The formal definition of virtue according to its genus and
differentia. Ch. V.—VI.

(3.) The exhibition of this theory in a list of the separate
virtues. Ch. VII.

(4.) The relation of extremes, or vices, to each other, and to
the mean or virtue. Ch. VIII.

(5.) Rules for action, with a view to attaining the mean.
Ch. IX.

Of these heads the first can with difficulty be divided from
the second. The first four chapters implicitly contain the whole
of the definition of virtue which is afterwards formally drawn out
in Chapters V.and VI. And though the reservation of ’Op@dc¢
Adyog (II. ii. 2) for future analysis really afterwards gives rise to
Book VI., and the account of intellectual ἀρετή; yet here Ὀρθὸς
Λόγος is by no means identified with intellectual ἀρετή, and the
whole conception of Book VI. seems to belong to a later develop-

“PLAN OF BOOK II. 403

ment of the Psychology of Aristotle, whether due to himself or to
his school. Other marks of crudeness in detail will be adverted to
in the notes. At the same time it would be unjust not to recognise
the deep moral penetration exhibited by Aristotle in the different
parts of his theory of Virtue. The merit of this theory can only
be appreciated by a comparison with the results which had been
previously arrived at, as they exhibit themselves in Plato.

FF2

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQON II.

——_+0039{00——.

A ITTH® δὲ τῆς ἀρετῆς οὔσης, τῆς μὲν διανοητικῆς τῆς

δὲ ἠθικῆς, 7 μὲν διανοητικὴ τὸ πλεῖον ἐκ διδασκαλίας
ἔχει καὶ τὴν γένεσιν καὶ τὴν αὔξησιν, διόπερ ἐμπειρίας
δεῖται καὶ χρόνου, ἡ δ᾽ ἠθικὴ ἐξ ἔθους περιγίνεται, ὅθεν καὶ

” 5 Σ Ν ~ ψ' ον ~
«τοὔνομα ἔσχηκε μικρὸν παρεκκλῖνον ἀπὸ τοῦ ἔθους.

ἐξ οὗ

“ὃν “ PEN , es 5 “ , ~ ΄ «ὦ »
καὶ δῆλον ὅτι οὐδεμία τῶν ἠθμεῶν ἀρετῶν Φύσει ἡμῖν ἐγγί-
WN Ἁ ~ , 5, Bd 7 «
νεται" οὐδὲν γὰρ τῶν φύσει ὄντων ἄλλως ἐθίζεται, οἷον ὃ

I. 1. The discussion is taken up
from the point last arrived at in the
analysis of happiness, namely, the dis-
tinction of intellectual from moral
&p.th. Weare not immediately told
that the consideration of the former is
to be deferred. That indeed only
comes out incidentally, when (1. ii. 2)
the discussion of ὀρθὸς λόγος is de-
ferred, which ὀρθὸς λόγος is afterwards
(σι. xiii, 3) identified with φρόνησις,
the perfection of the practical reason.
Here the mention made of the two
forms of ἀρετῇ only goes to imply
that neither of them is innate—that
they are both acquired. After this
first paragraph, the book confines
itself to moral virtue, discussing how
it is acquired and what is its nature.
ἣ μὲν διανοητική--- ἔθου] ‘Now
intellectual excellence, for the most
part, takes both its origin and its
growth from teaching, and therefore
it requires experience and time, but
moral virtue results from habit;

whence also it has, with a slight de-
flection, derived its name’ (ἠθική
from ἔθος); a derivation which is
doubtless suggested by Plato, Laws,
VII. p. 792 B: κυριώτατον γὰρ οὖν ἐμ-
φύεται πᾶσι τότε (scil. in youth) way
ἦθος διὰ ἔθος. A mechanical theory
is here given both of the intellect and
the moral character, as if the one
could be acquired by teaching, the
other by a course of habits. That
Aristotle inclined to this mechanical
view has been already noticed (Zth.
1. ix. 4). It is qualified, however, by
admissions with regatd to εὐφυΐα,
φυσικὴ ἀρετή, &e. (Cf. πη. v. 17.)

2 ἐξ ob—éyylvera:] ‘ Whence also
it is plain that none of the moral
virtues arises in us by nature.’
Additional proofs of this position are
subjoined. (1) The laws of nature
are unalterable, and independent of
habit. (2) According to the doctrine
of δυνάμεις and ἐνέργειαι (see Essay
IV.), moral faculties are distinguished

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION II.

405

λίθος φύσει κάτω ᾧερόμενος οὐκ ἂν ἐθισθείη ἄνω dépe-

»Ὸ aA / > \ 5Ὶ7 57 «ἦν SAA
σθαι, οὐδ᾽ dy μυριάκις αὐτὸν ἐθίξζη τις ἄνω ῥίπτων, οὐδὲ
τὸ πῦρ κάτω, οὐδ᾽ ἄλλο οὐδὲν τῶν ) ἄλλως πεφυκότων ἄλλως

ἂν ἐθισθείη.

οὔτ᾽ ἄρα ae οὔτε mapa duc ἐ ἐγγίνονται 3:

αἱ ἀρεταί, ἀλλὰ πεΦυκόσι μεεν ἐν ἡμῖν δέξασθαι αὐτάς, τελει- | Me ke te jpoating

from physical faculties in that the
former are developed out of acts, and
do not merely find a development in
acts. (3) The whole idea of legis-
lation is based on the supposition
that virtue may be cultivated. (4)
The analogy of the arts shows that
out of practice grows perfection.
We need only compare the theory
of virtue in this book with the dis-
cussions in the Meno of Plato, to see
how immensely moral philosophy had
gained in definiteness in the mean-
time. While becoming definite and
systematic, however, it had also to
some extent become scholastic and
mechanical.

4 οὔτ᾽ &pa—ZOovs] ‘Therefore the
virtues arise in us neither by nature,
nor against nature, but on the one
hand we have a natural capacity of
receiving them, and on the other hand
we are only made perfect by habit.’
(Cf. Eth. vi. xiii. 1-2, on the relation
of φυσικὴ ἀρετή to κυρία ἀρετή.) It
may be well, for the sake of clearness,
to collect here some of the chief ap-
plications of the word φύσις to moral
subjects in Aristotle, without going
into the deeper philosophy of his con-
ception of φύσις in relation to God,
&e. φύσις is defined (Metaph. 1. iv.
8) as ἣ οὐσία ἡ τῶν ἐχόντων ἀρχὴν
κινήσεως ἐν αὐτοῖς ἣ αὑτά. ‘The essence
of things having their efficient cause
in themselves, by reason of what they
are.’ Here, then, we have two notions
blended together, (1) the essence of
things, their matter and form; (2)
the productive principle of that essence,

which is nothing external, but in the
things themselves. From this general
conception, we see the term applied in
various ways.

I. φύσις denotes the self-produced,
or self-producing, principle, opposed
especially to that which is produced
by the intelligence or will of man:
thus to art (Eth. v1. iv. 4) or to the
moral will, care, or cultivation (x. ix.
6). It is that for which we are irre-
sponsible (ἐδὲά.), τὸ μὲν οὖν τῆς φύσεως
δῆλον ὡς οὐκ ἐφ᾽ ἡμῖν ὑπάρχει. That
which comes of itself (σι. xi. 6), ἥδε
ἡ ἡλικία νοῦν ἔχει καὶ γνώμην, ὡς τῆς
φύσεως αἰτίας οὔσης. That which is
innate, and out of the sphere of the
will, (vi. xiii. 1), πᾶσι γὰρ δοκεῖ ἕκαστα
τῶν ἠθῶν ὑπάρχειν φύσει πως. (IIL ν.
18), τὸ τέλος φύσει ἢ ὅπως δήποτε
φαίνεται. It is opposed to habit, as
the original tendency to that which is
superinduced, (vm. x. 4) ῥᾷον ἔθος
μετακινῆσαι φύσεως. Also, to the re-
sult of circumstances, (m1. v. 15) τυφλῷ
φύσει ἢ ἐκ νόσου ἢ ἐκ πληγῆς.

II. From the idea of the self-caused
(καθ᾽ αὑτό), it comes to mean that
which is under a fixed law opposed to
the variable, (v. vii. 2) τὸ μὲν φύσει
ἀκίνητον. Or, to the arbitrary and
conventional, (1. iii. 2) νόμῳ μόνον,
φύσει δὲ μή. The absolute opposed
to the relative, (m. iv. 3) τὸ φύσει
βουλητόν.

III. It means not only a law, but
also a tendency, as v. vii. 4, φύσει 7)
δεξιὰ κρείττων.

IV. The character and attributes
of a thing, whether good or bad,

406 HOIKQON NIKOMAXEION II, [ CHar.

4 ουμένοις δὲ διὰ τοῦ ἔθους. ἔτι ὅσα μὲν φύσει ἡμῖν παρα-
γίνεται, τὰς δυνάμεις τούτων πρότερον xopes ζόμεθα, ὕστερον
δὲ τὰς ἐνεργείας ἀποδίδομεν. ὅπερ ἐπὶ τῶν αἰσθήσεων

; δῆλον" οὐ γὰρ ἐκ τοῦ πολλάκις ἰδεῖν ἢ 7 πολλάκις ἀκοῦσαι
τος αἰσθήσεις ἐλάβομεν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀνάπαλιν ἔχοντες ἐχρησά-

tee μεθα, οὐ χρησάμενοι ἔσχομεν. τὰς δ᾽ ἀρετὰς λαμβάνομεν
ἐνεργήσαντες πρότερον, ὥσπερ καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν. ἄλλων τεχνῶν"
ἃ γὰρ δεῖ μαθόντας ποιεῖν, ταῦτα ποιοῦντες μανθάνομεν,
οἷον οἰκοδομοῦντες οἰκοδόμοι γίνονται καὶ κιθαρίξοντες κι-
θαρισταί. οὕτω δὲ καὶ τὰ μὲν δίκαια πράττοντες δίκαιοι
γινόμεθα, τὰ δὲ σώφρονα σώφρονες, τὰ δ᾽ ἀνδρεῖα ἀνδρεῖοι.

ς μαρτυρεῖ δὲ καὶ τὸ γινόμενον ἐν ταῖς πόλεσιν" οἱ γὰρ
τ ρει τοὺς πολίτας ἐθίζοντες ποιοῦσιν ἀγαθούς, καὶ τὸ

ae powers possessed by a thing, (1.
iii. 4) ἢ τοῦ πράγματος φύσις. (τι.
1. 7) ἃ τὴν ἀνθρωπίνην φύσιν ὑὕπερ-
τείνει.

V. The whole constitution of a
thing, viewed as realising its proper
τέλος, or the idea of good in itself,
the perfect or normal state of any-
thing. (vu. xi. 4) γένεσις εἰς φύσιν
αἰσθητή. (τπ. xii, 2) ἢ μὲν λύπη
ἐξίστησι καὶ φθείρει τὴν τοῦ ἔχον-
τος φύσιν. Cf. Politics, τ. ii. 8: οἷον
γὰρ ἕκαστόν ἐστι τῆς γενέσεως τελε-
φαμὲν τὴν φύσιν
εἶναι ἑκάστου, ὥσπερ ἀνθρώπου, ἵππου,
οἰκίας.

VI. The word is sometimes almost
periphrastic ; Topics, τ. i. 3, 4 τοῦ
ψεύδους φύσις. Similar to this is the
usage in Eth, Nic, τ. xiii. 15: ἄλλη τις
φύσις τῆς ψυχῆς ἄλογο.

4 ἔτι ὅσα--- ἀνδρεῖοι] ‘Again, in the
case of every faculty that comes to us
by nature, we first of all possess the
capacity, and only afterwards exhibit
it in actual operation. This is clear
with regard to the senses, for we did
not get our senses by hearing often or
seeing often, but on the contrary we
used them because we had them, and

σθείσης, ταὐτην

did not have them because we used
them. But the virtues we acquire
only after having first acted, which is
also the case with the arts: for these
things which we must learn before we
can do, we learn by doing; as for ex-
ample, men become builders by build-
ing, and harpers by playing on the
harp. In the same manner we become
just by doing just actions, temperate
by doing temperate actions, and brave
by doing brave actions. On the
philosophy of this doctrine, see Ar.
Metaph, vut. viii. and Essay IV.
above, from which it will be seen that
‘acts’ or ‘operations’ is an inadequate
translation for ἐνέργεια. On Ari-
stotle’s position with regard to the
question whether sight is an inherent
or an acquired faculty, see below, v1.
viii. 9, note.

τῶν ἄλλων τεχνῶν] ‘The arts be-
side,’ not as if virtue were reckoned
among the arts. On the idiom, ef.
Plato, Gorgias, p. 473 6: εὐδαιμονι(ό-
μενος ὑπὸ τῶν πολιτῶν Kal τῶν ἄλλων
ξένων. οἱ ἄλλοι seems to imply a
separate class in juxtaposition, as in
the French idiom, ‘yous autres.’ Cf.
Eth, π΄ ii. 8: ἐπὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION IL.

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γειῶν αἱ ἕξεις γίνονται.

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A ~
διὸ δεῖ τὰς ἐνεργείας ποιὰς ἀπο- ς

φανερωτέρων. Eth, τι. ἵν. 3: τὰς ἄλλας
τέχνας.

6 ἔτι ἐκ----κιθαρισταί] “ Again, every
virtue, as well as every art, is pro-
duced out of and by the same things
that destroy it; for it is by playing on
the harp that both good and bad
players are formed.’

ἐκ τῶν αὐτῶν] te, the circum-
stances and acts are generically the
same, only differing as to well and ill.
The doctrine here stated is no doubt
true, with an addition, For it must
not be supposed that all men start
equal, either as artists or in morals,
What is it that determines the well or
ill of the first essays in art or in
action? In the one case we say
genius, talent, aptitud@ or the re-
verse; in the other οἷο, εὐφυΐα or
the natural bent of the character as
modified by circumstances. Such a

difference between man and man is
quite admitted in the New Test., see
Matth. xxv. 14-30.

7 καὶ ἑνὶ δὴ--- γίνονται] ‘And, in
one word, states of mind are formed
out of corresponding acts.’ This is
Aristotle’s famous doctrine of habits,
to appreciate the importance of which,
we must think of it not as a philo-
sophic or even as a practical doctrine
for modern times, but rather as a new
discovery and in contrast with the
state of moral science in Aristotle’s
own time. We can see that it arose
in his mind from a combination of
his penetrating observation and expe-
rience of life with the peculiar forms
of his philosophy. By means of
δύναμις and ἐνέργεια, he finds it
possible to explain the formation of
virtue, just as he does the existence
of the world. In each act and mo-

hc Uta Ya9:
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408

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQN II,

[CHar.

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νέων ἐθίζεσθαι, ἀλλὰ πάμπολυ, μᾶλλον δὲ τὸ πᾶν.

2

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4 ε » > \ y > INS £3 ες. 5 \
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yy > δῷ > “" > A | § \ ὶ \
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Ἂν \ \ 2 AX , , : \ Ne ΄
OUY κατὰ TOV ὀρθὸν λογον πράττειν κοινὸν καὶ ὑποκείσθω,

ment at the outset of life, something
which was potential in us and quite
indeterminate for good or evil (δύναμι5)
is brought into actuality (ἐνέργεια),
and now is determinately either good
or bad. This determination, by the
law of habits, reproduces itself, and
thus there is no longer left an am-
biguous δύναμις, but a ἕξις, or de-
finite tendency for good or evil, is
superinduced (see Essay IV.). It will
be observed that why an act tends to
reproduce itself Aristotle does not
inquire. He contents himself with
stating the fact as a universal law,
and expressing it in his own for-
mula; ---ΚἝτὸ δ᾽ ὅτι πρῶτον καὶ ἀρχή, I.
Vii. 20.)

II. 1, Ἐπεὶ οὖν---εἰρήκαμεν] ‘ Since
then this present science does not
aim at speculation, like the others
(for we do not inquire in order to
know what virtue is, but in order
that we may become virtuous, else
there would be no profit in the in-
quiry), itis necessary to consider with
regard to actions, how they should be
done; for these are what determine
the quality of the states of mind
which are produced in us, as before
stated.’ πραγματεία is used by Ari-
stotle and his commentators to denote
the whole body of a separate science,

ἡ φυσικὴ πραγματεία, ἣ πολιτικὴ mpary-
ματεία, &e. In Plato the word only
occurs in a general sense, denoting
‘business,’ ‘undertaking,’ ‘ employ-
ment,’ &e. ὥσπερ ai ἄλλαι. Accord-
ing to this classification, sciences will
be divided into speculative and prac-
tical ; elsewhere a third classis added,
the productive. On Aristotle’s .con-
ception of the nature of Politics, see
above I. ii, 8, 9, notes.

αὐτῆς] Se. τῆς σκέψεως or τῆς mpary-
ματείας.

αὗται γάρ] ἑ. 6. af πράξεις, which
are thus identified with the ἐνέργειαι
of the last chapter.

2 τὸ μὲν οὖν--- ἀρετάς] ‘That we must
act according to the right law—this
indeed is a general principle, and may
be assumed as a basis of our concep-
tion—but we shall discuss hereafter,
both what the right law is, and how
it is related to the other virtues.’
The meaning of κοινόν is made plainer
by vi. i. 2 infra. ἔστι δὲ τὸ μὲν εἰπεῖν
(sci. κατὰ τὸν ὀρθὸν λόγον) ἀληθὲς
μέν, οὐθὲν δὲ σαφές. The Paraphrast
has in the present passage, ἀληθὲς μέν,
οὐκ ἔστι δὲ ἱκανὸν τὰς πράξεις σημᾶναι.
Cf. Eth. τ, vii. 9.

ὑποκείσθω] The MSS. are at issue
upon this word, a number of them
giving ὑπερκείσθω, which reading is fol-
lowed by the Paraphrast. ὑπερκείσθω

x

TI.)

ΗΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION II.

409

ῥηθήσεται δ᾽ ὕστερον περὶ αὐτοῦ, καὶ τί ἐστιν ὁ ὀρθὸς λό-

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εἰπομεν OTL κατὰ THY VAY οἱ AYO! ἀπαιτήτεοι᾽ τὰ ὃ EV
~ / \ \ Ζ IQA ε ἮΝ [τὰ

ταῖς πράξεσι καὶ τὰ συμφέρονται οὐδὲν ἑστηκὸς ἔχει, ὥσπερ

would mean, ‘must stand over,’ and it
would be taken in close connection
with ῥηθήσεται & ὕστερον. But the
authority of Bekker, and the usage of
Aristotle, seem sufficient to establish
ὑποκείσθω. Cf. Eth. τι. iii. 6, v. i. 3,
Rhet. τ. xi, 1:
τὴν ἡδονὴν κίνησίν τινα τῆς ψυχῆ.
Pol, vu. i. 13:
τοσοῦτον, K.T.A.
κατὰ τὸν ὀρθὸν λόγον] We find the
phrase ὀρθὸς λόγος occasionally occur-
ring in Plato, thus Phedo, p. 73 A, it
is coupled with émorhun—ei μὴ ἐτύγ-
χανεν αὐτοῖς ἐπιστήμη ἐνοῦσα καὶ
ὀρθὸς λόγος, where it means ‘a sound
understanding.’ In the same dialogue,
Ρ. 94 A, it occurs with the signification
‘sound reasoning.” κατὰ τὸν ὀρθὸν
λόγον κακίας οὐδεμία ψυχὴ μεθέξει,
εἴπερ ἁρμονία ἐστίν. Elsewhere λόγος
is found joined with φρόνησις. Cf.
Repub. 1x., p. 582 A, ἐμπειρίᾳ καί
φρονήσει καὶ λόγῳ. It is easy to see
that ὀρθὸς λόγος was in Plato a floating
idea; in Aristotle it is passing into a
fixed idea, as is the case with many
other terms of psychology and morals.
But even in Aristotle something in-
definite must still attach to a word
used in such a variety of kindred
senses as λόγος is. It means ‘argument’
(Eth. x. ii, 1, ἐπιστεύοντο δ᾽ οἱ λόγοι,
I. v. 8, πολλοὶ λόγοι), ‘inference,’ op-
posed to intuition (vr. viii. 9, ὧν οὐκ
ἔστι Adyes), ‘ratio’ (Vv. iv. 2, κατὰ τὸν
λόγον τὸν αὐτόν), ‘reckoning’ (Vv. iii.
15, ἐν ἀγαθοῦ λόγῳ), ‘ conception’ (1.
vi. 5, ὅ αὐτὸς λόγος 6 τοῦ ἀνθρώπου),
‘definition’ or ‘formula’ (11. iii. 5,

ὑποκείσθω δ᾽ ἡμῖν εἶναι

νῦν δὲ ὑποκείσθω

ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου διορίζεται. τι. vi. 7, τὸν
λόγον τὸν τί ἦν εἶναι λέγοντα), ὅζο. In
Eth, τ. xiii. 9, τὸ δὲ λόγον ἔχον, it
means ‘reason,’ but still in the present
passage it seems best to avoid trans-
lating κατὰ τὸν ὀρθὸν λόγον, ‘ accord-
ing to right reason,’ as is usually
done, (1) because of the article, which
seems to show that λόγος is used in a
general sense here, and not to denote
a particular faculty of the mind ; (2) be-
cause, by the use of a word so definite
as ‘reason,’ we exclude the train of as-
sociations which must have been in
Aristotle’s mind, of ‘standard,’ ‘pro-
portion,’ ‘law,’ ὅσο. (see Essay IV.),
and thus to some extent lose his point
of view.

4-.4 τὰ 8 ἐν ταῖς πράξεσι--κυ-
βερνητικῆ5) ‘Now the actions and
the interests of men exhibit no fixed
rule, any more than the conditions of
health do. And if this is the case
with the universal theory, still more
is the theory of particular acts incapa-
ble of being exactly fixed, for it falls
under the domain of no art or regimen,
but the actors themselves must always
watch what suits the occasion, as is
the case with the physician’s and the
pilot’s art.’ τὰ δ᾽ ἐν ταῖς πράξεσι καὶ
τὰ συμφέροντα refers to the two classes
specified, Hth. τ. iii. 2, 3, τὰ δὲ καλὰ
καὶ τὰ δίκαια----τοιαύτην δέ τινα πλάνην
ἔχει καὶ τἀγαθά κιτιλ. But we may
add that τὸ συμφέρον is used as a very
comprehensive word to express all
that is ‘good’ in morals, ef. Hth. τα.
i. 15, note.

τὰ ὑγιεινά)] Aristotle is fond of the

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HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQON II.

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5 κυβερνητικῆς.
6 λόγου πειρατέον βοηθεῖν.

» Ν / 5 A ~ /
ἀλλὰ καίπερ ὄντος τοιούτου τοῦ παρόντος
πρῶτον οὖν τοῦτο θεωρητέον,

ὅτι τὰ τοιαῦτα πέφυκεν ὑπὸ ἐνδείας καὶ ὑπερβολῆς φθεί-
ρεσθαι, (δεῖ γὰρ ὑπὲρ τῶν ἀφανῶν τοῖς φανεροῖς μαρτυ-
ρίοις χρῆσθαι) ὥσπερ ἐπὶ τῆς ἰσχύος καὶ τῆς ὑγιείας ὁρῶ-

/ \ ε ΙΑ ΙΑ \ A > /
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ποντα φθείρει τὴν ἰσχύν, ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ τὰ ποτὰ καὶ τὰ

analogy between health and morals.
He speaks of health as a relative, not
an absolute, balance of the bodily
constitution, ef. Eth. x. iii. 3.

τοιούτου δ᾽ ὄντος τοῦ καθόλου λόγου]
It seems an oyer-statement of the un-
certainty and relative character of
morals, to say that ‘the universal
theory’ is devoid of all fixedness.
Rather it seems true to say (1) That
in some things there is an absolute,
immutable law of right and wrong.
This Aristotle would himself acknow-
ledge. (Cf. Eth. π΄ vi. 19, 20.) (2)
That in a large class of cases there is
a law universal for the conduct of all
men, but admitting also of modifica-
tion in relation to the individual. (3)
That there is a sphere of actions yet
remaining, indeterminate beforehand,
entirely depending on relative and
temporary circumstances for their de-
termination. Aristotle however may
say with truth that, on the one hand,
the theory of action cannot be reduced
to universal axioms, like those of
mathematics; on the other hand, that
it is impossible to do what the casuists
would attempt, namely, to settle
scientifically the minutie of particular
actions.

5 πειρατέον βοηθεῖν] This is said

in the spirit of the Platonie Socrates,
only the uncertainty which Aristotle
attributes to morals, he, from a diffe-
rent point of view, attributed to all
knowledge.

6 δεῖ γὰρ--- χρῆσθαι] ‘For in illus-
tration of immaterial things we must
use material analogies.’ This sen-
tence is repeated in the Magna Moralia
(1. v. 4) with a context that seems at
first sight startling, ὅτι δὲ ἡ ἔνδεια καὶ
ἡ ὑπερβολὴ φθείρει, τοῦτ᾽ ἰδεῖν ἔστιν ex
τῶν ἠθικῶν. Δεῖ δ᾽ ὑπὲρ τῶν ἀφανῶν
τοῖς φανεροῖς μαρτυρίοις χρῆσθαι. One
might almost fancy that the writer
was quoting the Ethics of Aristotle.
Spengel, however (Transactions of
Philos.-Philol. Class of Bavarian Aca-
demy, ut. 513), remarks that the true
reading must be not ἐκ τῶν ἠθικῶν,
but ἐκ τῶν αἰσθήσεων, confirming this
conjecture by the words of Stobzus,
who with regard to the Peripatetic
ethics says, πρὸς δὲ τὴν ἔνδειξιν τούτου
τοῖς ἐκ τῶν αἰσθήσεων μαρτυρίοις χρῶνται.
The writer therefore is only borrowing,
not quoting, from Aristotle.

ὥσπερ ἐπὶ τῆς ἰσχύος---ἰσχύν] Taken
perhaps from Plato, cf. Hraste, p. 134,
where, to prove that philosophy is not
πολυμαθία, Socrates argues that φιλο-
γυμναστία is not πολυπονία, but exercise

II. j HOIKON NIKOMAXEION II. 411

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in moderation. To which his opponent
agrees (0), ᾿Αλλ᾽ ὁμολογῶ μὴ τὰ πολλὰ
ἀλλὰ τὰ μέτρια γυμνάσια τὴν εὐεξίαν
ἐμποιεῖν τοῖς ἀνθρώποις. Τί δὲ τὰ σιτία;
τὰ μέτρια ἢ τὰ πολλὰ; κιτιλ. There
are three points which this chapter
and the next contribute tentatively to
the theory of virtuous actions; (1)
From the analogy of life, health, and
strength, they must exhibit the law of
the balance between extremes; (2)
Virtue reproduces the actions out of
which it was formed ; (3) It is essen-
tially concerned with pleasure, and is
indeed entirely based on a regulation
of pleasures and pains.

8 ἀλλ᾽ od μόνον---ἰσχυρός] ‘ But

not only do the formation, the in-
crease, the destruction of these quali-
ties arise out of the same given cir-
cumstances, and by the same means,—
the exercise also of the qualities, when
formed, will be in the same sphere.
We see this to be the case with things
more palpable, as for instance, strength.
For it arises out of taking much food
and enduring much toil, and these
things the strong man is especially
able to do.’ Virtue is developed out
of, and finds its development in, the
same class of ἐνέργειαι. But only
those which succeed the formation of
virtue are to be called virtuous, see
below, Chapter IV.

GG 2

412

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQON It.

[ Cuap-

3 Σημεῖον δὲ δεῖ ποιεῖσθαι τῶν ἕξεων τὴν ἐπιγινομένην
ἡδονὴν ἢ λύπην τοῖς ἔργοις" ὁ μὲν γὰρ ἀπεχόμενος τῶν
σωματικῶν ἡδονῶν καὶ αὐτῷ τούτῳ χαίρων σώφρων, ὃ δ᾽
» 46 > / sae x ε / \ Ἄν \ }
ἀχθόμενος ἀκόλαστος, καὶ 6 μὲν ὑπομένων τὰ δεινὰ κα
χαίρων ἢ μὴ λυπούμινός γε ἀνδρεῖος, 6 δὲ λυπούμενος δειλός.

δ ᾿ς \ A \ 7 ᾿ A c “ἢ Ἁ > Cae ΝΑ Ἀ
περὶ ἡδονὰς γὰρ καὶ λύπας ἐστὶν ἡ ἠθικὴ ἀρετή" διὰ μὲν

III. 1 Σημεῖον δὲ---δειλόΞ] ‘Now
we must consider the test of a formed
state of mind to be the pleasure or
pain that results on doing the par-
ticular acts. For he who abstains
from bodily indulgence, and feels
pleasure in doing so, is temperate,
but he who does it reluctantly is in-
temperate ; and he who endures danger
gladly, or at all events without pain,
is brave, while he that does it with
pain is a coward.’ The doctrine ex-
pressed here has been already antici-
pated, Eth. τ. viii. 12. It is an ideal
perfection of virtue, in which all
struggle has ceased, and nothing but
pleasure is felt in the virtuous acts.
Temperance and courage are pictured
in this ideal way, th. τ. xiii. 17. The
terms ἀκόλαστος and δειλός above
seem used merely as the contradictories
of σώφρων and ἀνδρεῖος, so that ἀκό-
Aaoros has not the more technical
sense which it receives farther on in
the treatise. According to Aristotle’s
expanded doctrine, to abstain with
difficulty, or to meet danger with re-
luctance, shows not intemperance or
cowardice, but only imperfect self-
control.

περὶ ἡδονὰς γὰρ καὶ λύπας ἐστὶν 7
ἠθικὴ ἀρετή] ‘For moral virtue has
to do with pleasures and pains.’ On
this sentence the chapter goes off,
giving proofs of what is here affirmed.
These proofs, to some extent, run into
each other, and the whole chapter
may be accused of want of method,
both in itself and in relation to the

entire Ethics. But we must remember
that there is still something tentative
about Aristotle’s theory of virtue ;
that psychology was still in its in-
fancy; that Aristotle was only gradu-
ally winning his way to establish
moral virtue as a state of the will in
contradistinction to former systems,
which had confounded it with a state
of the intellect. From this point of
view we may see the importance of
urging the close connexion of morality
with the feelings, instincts, desires, in
short with pleasures and pains. The
arguments are (1) Pleasures and pains
induce and deter; whence Plato said
that true education consists in learning
to like and dislike the right things. -
(2) Virtue is an affair of actions and
feelings, hence of pleasure and pain,
which are inseparable from these. (3)
Punishment consists in pain, and
therefore vice, which it corrects, must
consist in pleasure. (4) So much
have pleasures and pains to do with
the corrupting of the mind, that some
haye defined virtue to consist in insen-
sibility to these. (5) There are three
principles which form the motives for
action: the good, the profitable, the
pleasant. Of these the last is in itself
the most widely extended, and ‘it
enters into both the others. (6) Plea-
sure is a natural instinct from infancy
upwards, which it is impossible to get
rid of. (7) We all, in a greater or
less degree, adopt pleasure and pain
as the measure of actions. (8) The
very difficulty of contending with

ΠΙ.7

HOIKOQN ΝΙΚΟΜΑΧΈΤΩΝ II.

413

γὰρ τὴν ἡδονὴν TA φαῦλα πράττομεν, διὰ δὲ τὴν λύπην

τῶν καλῶν ἀπεχόμεθα.

διὸ δεῖ ἥχθαί πως εὐθὺς ἐκ νέων, 2

“ “ A ~ *
ὡς 6 Πλάτων φησίν, ὥστε χαίρειν τε καὶ λυπεῖσθαι οἷς
-“ ε A > \ YX 7 icf > , + Ὁ» ᾿ > /
δεῖ" ἡ γὰρ ὀρθὴ παιδεία αὕτη ἐστίν. ἔτι δ᾽ εἰ aperals
> 4 / oe \ 44 > \ δὲ rhe \ ΄
εἰσι περὶ πράξεις καὶ πάθη, παντὶ δὲ πάθει καὶ πάσῃ

7 “ ε \ \ , + A ~ > XK y C23 \
πράξει ἕπεται ἡδονὴ καὶ λύπη, καὶ διὰ τοῦτ᾽ ay εἴη ἡ ἀρετὴ
΄ A \ [4
περὶ ἡδονὰς καὶ λύπας. μηνύουσι δὲ καὶ αἱ κολάσεις γινό- 4
~ / ΄ Ἁ -
μεναι διὰ τούτων" ἰατρεῖαι γάρ τινές εἶσιν, αἱ δὲ ἰατρεῖαι
ἮΝ ’ , ” ,
διὰ τῶν ἐναντίων πεφύκασι γίνεσθαι. ἔτι, ὡς καὶ πρότερον 5

these motives proves their claim to be
the matter of virtue, and the objects
of the highest science, namely, Politics.
A glance at these arguments is suffi-
cient to show that they might have
been more scientifically stated. It is
obvious that they are written pre-
viously to Aristotle’s analysis of plea-
sure, as it appears in Book X. The
deeper method would have been to
state the connexion of pleasure with
ἐνέργεια, and of ἐνέργεια with moral
virtue on the one hand, and happiness
on the other.

2 ὡς 6 Πλάτων φησίν] The refer-
ence is to Plato, de Legibus, τα. p. 653
A: Λέγω τοίνυν τῶν παίδων παιδικὴν εἶνα.
πρώτην αἴσθησιν ἡδονὴν καὶ λύπην, καὶ
ἐν οἷς ἀρετὴ ψυχῇ καὶ κακία παραγί-
νεται πρῶτον, ταῦτ᾽ εἶναι---παιδείαν δὴ
λέγω τὴν παραγιγνομένην πρῶτον παισὶν
ἀρετὴν, ἡδονὴ δὲ καὶ φιλία καὶ λύπη
καὶ μῖσος ἂν ὀρθῶς ἐν ψυχαῖς ἐγγίγνων-
ται μήπω δυναμένων λόγῳ λαμβάνειν,
λαβόντων δὲ τὸν λόγον συμφωνήσωσι
τῷ λόγῳ, ὀρθῶς εἰθίσθαι ὑπὸ τῶν προ-
σηκόντων ἐθῶν" αὐτῆς θ᾽ ἡ ξυμφωνία
ξύμπασα μὲν ἀρετή, τὸ δὲ περὶ τὰς
ἡδονὰς καὶ λύπας τεθραμμένον αὐτῆς
ὀρθῶς, ὥστε μισεῖν μὲν ἃ χρὴ μισεῖν
εὐθὺς ἐξ ἀρχῆς μέχρι τέλους, στέργειν
δὲ ἃ χρὴ στέργειν, τοῦτ᾽ αὐτὸ ἀποτεμὼν
τῷ λόγῳ καὶ παιδείαν προσαγορεύων
κατά γε Thy ἐμὴν ὀρθῶς ἂν προσαγορεύοι5.

4 αἱ δὲ ἰατρεῖαι διὰ τῶν ἐναντίων
πεφύκασι γίνεσθαι) ‘But it is the

nature of remedies to be the contrary
of that which they cure’ This prin-
ciple is stated by Hippocrates, Aphor-
ism xx. § 2, and repeated Eth. x.
ix. 10,

5 ἔτι, ὡς
‘Again, as we have
already said, every mental state
is essentially related to, and concerned
with, those things by which it is na-
turally made worse or better; now
our mental states are corrupted by
pleasures and pains, from pursuing
and avoiding them, either those which
one ought not, or at the wrong time,
or in the wrong manner, or what-
ever other points of the kind are
specified in the definition. Hence it
is that people define the virtues to be
certain apathies and quietudes,—not
rightly, however, because they state
this absolutely without adding, “as is
right,” and ‘“‘as is wrong,” and “ δὲ the
proper time,” and all the other quali-
fications.’

ὡς καὶ πρότερον] The Laurentian
MS. (K») reads ὡς καὶ πρώην, which
is adopted by Dr. Cardwell. But
there does not seem to be any instance
of a similar usage in Aristotle, by
which πρώην might be justified. The
reference is to the preceding chapter,
§ 8, 9, where it is stated that
virtue finds its development in those
same acts and feelings out of which
it sprung.

καὶ πρότερον---προσ-
τί εται]

N

414 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIOQON IL, [ CHap.

BA 0 cy ~ ψυ - ἕξ ὑφ᾽ od , , Ξ ῇ la
εἴπομεν, πᾶσα ψυχῆς ἕξις, ὑφ᾽ οἵων πέφυκε γίνεσθαι χείρων
, \ ~ ~
καὶ βελτίων, πρὸς ταῦτα καὶ περὶ ταῦτα τὴν φύσιν ἔχει"
NAS «Ὁ εἶ δὲ \ ‘ ~ / ~ ’ ͵
Ob ἡδονὰς ὃε καὶ λυπας φαῦλαι γίνονται, τῷ διώκειν ταύτας
\ ’ vA A δ, Ἄν Ὁ a ov > “ἃ ©. τς δον “
καὶ φεύγειν, ἢ ἃς μὴ δεῖ ἢ ὅτε οὐ δεῖ ἢ ὡς οὐ δεῖ ἢ ὁσαχῶς
/ ~ ; / ~
ἄλλως ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου διορίζεται τὰ τοιαῦτα. διὸ καὶ
Εἰ 2
ὁρίζονται τὰς ἀρετὰς ἀπαθείας τινὰς καὶ ἠρεμίας" οὐκ εὖ
δέ, ὅτι ἁπλῶς λέγουσιν, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ ὡς δεῖ καὶ ὡς οὐ δεῖ,
\ a \ ao ΕΝ 4 ε ΄ x «
καὶ ὅτε, καὶ ὅσα ἄλλα προστίθεται. ὑπόκειται ἄρα ἡ
« Uy \ , ~
ἀρετὴ εἶναι ἡ τοιαύτη περὶ ἡδονὰς καὶ λύπας THY βελτίστων
7 \ ΄ / ~
πρακτική, ἡ δὲ κακία τοὐναντίον. γένοιτο δ᾽ ἂν ἡμῖν καὶ
, 5, ~ ~ ~
ἐκ τούτων Φανερὸν ἔτι περὶ τῶν αὐτῶν. τριῶν yap ὄντων
a x , \ ἊΣ »" a
τῶν εἰς τὰς αἱρέσεις καὶ τριῶν τῶν εἰς τὰς φυγάς, καλοῦ
/ / \ ~ ~ ‘4 ~
συμφέροντος ἡδέος, καὶ τριῶν τῶν ἐναντίων, αἰσχροῦ βλα-
n~ ~ \ , ~~
βεροῦ λυπηροῦ, περὶ πάντα μὲν ταῦτα 6 ἀγαθὸς κατορθω-
/ Ν e
τικός ἐστιν ὁ OF κακὸς ἁμαρτητικός, μάλιστα δὲ περὶ τὴν
N re 4 A a ~ tA ~ ~
ἡδονήν" κοινή τε γὰρ αὕτη τοῖς ζώοις, καὶ πᾶσι τοῖς ὑπὸ
τὴν αἵρεσιν παρακολουθεῖ" καὶ γάρ τὸ καλὸν καὶ τὸ συμ.-

&s μὴ δεῖ ἢ ὅτε οὐ δεῖ] The οὐ must
be taken immediately with δεῖ, so as
to form a positive conception, ‘ when
it is wrong ;’ else of course μή would
be required.

ὑπὸ τοῦ λόγου] Not ‘by reason,’
but ‘by the formula of definition.’
Cf. Physics, τι. ix. 5: καὶ τὸ τέλος τὸ
οὗ ἕνεκα, καὶ ἣ ἀρχὴ ἀπὸ τοῦ ὁρισμοῦ
καὶ τοῦ λόγου. The notion οὗ a regu-
lar formula for defining virtue occurs
Eth. vi. xiii. 4: Σημεῖον dé καὶ yap
νῦν πάντες, ὅταν δρίζωνται Thy ἀρετήν,
προστιθέασι τὴν ἕξιν, εἰπόντες καὶ πρὸς
ἅ ἐστι, τὴν κατὰ τὸν ὀρθὸν λόγον.

Διὸ καὶ ὁρίζονται] Especially the
Cynics, but other philosophers also,
as for instance Democritus, who
seems to have placed the highest
good in ἀταραξία. Cf. Stobseus, Eel.
π. 76: τὴν δ᾽ εὐθυμίαν καὶ εὐεστὼ καὶ
ἁρμονίαν συμμετρίαν τε καὶ ἀταραξίαν
καλεῖ, Aristotle appeals to this defi-
nition, as being an evidence, though
an over-statement, of the truth that

virtue consists in a balance of the
feelings. He appeals to a similar
over-statement of the truth that pro-
sperity is necessary for happiness,
Eth. τ. viii. 17.

οὐκ εὖ δέ, ὅτι ἁπλῶς] Amongst
other oppositions, ἁπλῶς is frequently
opposed to κατὰ πρόσθεσιν, or προσ-
θήκην, ‘absolutely’ opposed to ‘ with
a qualification.’ Cf. Eth. va. iv. 3:
οὐ κατὰ πρόσθεσιν. .. ἄλλ᾽ ἁπλῶς
μόνον. This shows the force of προσ-
τίθεται ubove.

6 ὑπόκειται---τοὐναντίον) ‘We may
begin by assuming then, as a ground
for future inquiries, that this kind of
excellence (i.e. moral) is concerned
with pleasures and pains, and tends
with regard to them to the perform-
ance of what is best, while vice is
the opposite. The chapter might
have ended here, but Aristotle re-
opens the discussion with fresh argu-
ments, and again sums it up in

§ ur.

IlI.—IV. | HOIKON NIKOMAXEION II. 415

, err , vw et , ~ cw ,
φέρον ἡδὺ Φαίνεται. ἔτι δ᾽ ἐκ νηπίου πᾶσιν ἡμῖν συντέ-8
Is ~
θραπται" διὸ χαλεπὸν ἀποτρίψασθαι τοῦτο τὸ πάθος
> , ~ / , \ \ \ /
ἐγκεχρωσμένον TO βίῳ, κανονίζομεν δὲ καὶ τὰς πράξεις,
ἱ μὲν μᾶλλον οἱ δ᾽ ἧττον, ἡδονὴ καὶ Av διὰ τοῦτ᾽
οἱ μὲν μᾶλλον οἱ δ᾽ ἧττον, ἡδονῇ καὶ λύπη. διὰ τοῦτ᾽ 9
re \ “ \ ea ,
οὖν ἀναγκαῖον εἶναι περὶ ταῦτα τὴν πᾶσαν πραγματείαν"
Lae ~
οὐ γὰρ «ρα εἰς τὰς πράξεις εὖ ἢ κακῶς χαίρειν καὶ λυ-
~ rs ~ Ἂ ~
πεῖσθαι. 1 δὲ χαλεπώτερον ἡδονῇ μάχεσθαι. 7 «θυμῷ, το
καθάπερ φησὶν Ἡράκλειτος, περὶ δὲ τὸ χαλεπώτερον ἀεὶ
καὶ τέχνη γίνεται καὶ ἀρετή" καὶ γὰρ τὸ εὖ βέλτιον ἐν
τούτῳ. ὥστε καὶ διὰ τοῦτο περὶ ἡδονὰς καὶ λύπας πασα
ἡ πραγματεία καὶ τῇ ἀρετῇ καὶ τῇ πολιτικῇ" ὁ μὲν γὰρ
εὖ τούτοις χρώμενος ἀγαθὸς ἔσται, ὃ δὲ κακῶς κακός, ὅτιτι
ἫΝ ον τ δ ὁ κ eRe ας oe \o > ᾿
μὲν οὖν ἐστὶν ἡ ἀρετὴ περὶ ἡδονὰς καὶ λύπας, καὶ ὅτι ἐξ ὧν
΄ 5 Le
γίνεται, ὑπὸ τούτων καὶ αὔξεται καὶ φθείρεται μὴ ὡσαύτως
“ κ᾿ > / “ “
γινομένων, καὶ ὅτι ἐξ ὧν ἐγένετο, περὶ ταῦτα καὶ ἐνεργεῖ,
εἰρήσθω.

᾿Απορήσειε δ᾽ ἄν τις, πῶς λέγομεν ὅτι δεῖ τὰ μὲν δίκαια 4

8 ἔτι δ᾽ ἐκ νηπίου---λύπῃ} ‘ Again,
it has grown up along with us all
from our infancy, and this makes it
hard to rub off a feeling that is in-
grained into our life. And all of us,
in a greater or less degree, make
pleasure and pain our standard of
actions,’

χαλεπὸν arorpljarba — ἔγκεχρω-
σμένον] The metaphor, though not
its precise application, seems taken
from Plato, Repub. Iv. p. 429 D,
where the effects of right education
are compared to a dye, with which
the mind is to be imbued, so as to
resist the detersive effects of pleasure
and pain. :

10 ἔτι δὲ---Ἡράκλειτο5] ‘ Again,
it is harder to contend with pleasure
than with anger, which, as Heraclitus
says, is a hard antagonist. The
saying of Heraclitus is given in full,
| Politics, v. xi. 31: ἀφειδῶς γὰρ
|éavray ἔχουσιν of διὰ θυμὸν ἐπιχει-
| canter καθάπερ καὶ Ἡράκλειτος εἶπε,

χαλεπὸν φάσκων εἶναι θυμῷ μάχεσθαι"
ψυχῆς γὰρ ὠνεῖσθαι (1.6. that men are
ready to gratify their anger at the
cost of their life). It is repeated
also Eth. Eudem. τι. vii. 9. We see/
that Heraclitus only spoke of anger 3
the comparison of anger with plea-
sure is not due to him.

IV. 1 ᾿Απορήσειε δ᾽ ἄν tts] The
theory thus far given of the γένεσις of
virtue is now supplemented by the
starting and answering of a difficulty.
The theory, as stated, is a paradox.
How can it be said that we become
just by doing just things? If we do
just things we must be just already,
as he that performs music is already a
musician. The answer to this diffi-
culty is (1) in the arts, to whose
analogy appeal is made, mere perfor-
mance is no proof of art. The first
essays of the learner may by chance,
or by the guidance of his master
(ἀπὸ τύχης καὶ ἄλλου ὑποθεμένου), at-

416

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIOQN II.

[ CHa.

πράττοντας δικαίους γίνεσθαι, τὰ δὲ σώφρονα σώφρονας"
5 ἈΝ / | N77 \ A / no a δ
εἰ yap πράττουσι τὰ δίκαια καὶ τὰ σώφρονα, ἤδη εἰσὶ
δίκαιοι καὶ σώφρονες, ὥσπερ εἰ τὰ γραμματικὰ καὶ τὰ

N

μουσικά, γραμματικοὶ καὶ μουσικοί.

ἢ οὐδ᾽ ἐπὶ τῶν

τεχνῶν οὕτως ἔχει; ἐνδέχεται γὰρ γραμματικόν τι ποιῆ-

5 i aS 7 λ» c ,
σαι καὶ ἀπὸ τύχης καὶ ἄλλου ὑποθεμένου.

΄ of
τότε OUYV εσται

‘ ’
γραμματικός, ἐὰν καὶ γραμματικόν τι ποιήση καὶ γραμ-
(ae ~ 5 \ ἣν \ % > © ~ ’
ματικῶς" τοῦτο δ᾽ ἐστὶ τὸ κατὰ τὴν ἐν αὑτῷ γραμματικήν.

ω

7 2~ OF ee eed, Veer ~ \ tere: ~ \
ETS οὐδ᾽ ομοιον ἐστιν ἐπὶ τῶν τεχνῶν καὶ THY ἀρετῶν" τα

ε ~ ~~ A wed ~
μὲν yap ὑπὸ τῶν τεχνῶν γινόμενα τὸ εὖ ἔχει ἐν αὑτοῖς,
> ~ ~ 3 \ A \
ἀρκεῖ οὖν ταῦτά πως ἔχοντα γενέσθαι" τὰ δὲ κατὰ τὰς

w / a 4
ἀρετὰς γινόμενα οὐκ ἐὰν αὐτά πως ἔχη, δικαίως ἢ σωφρόνως
5
πράττεται, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐὰν 6 πράττων πως ἔχων πράττῃ,
~ wv 7
πρῶτον μὲν ἐὰν εἰδώς, ἔπειτ᾽ ἐὰν προαιρούμενος, καὶ
7 = δι᾽ » , \ δὲ / 42'S β β / A
προαιρούμενος δὲ αὐτά, τὸ δὲ τρίτον καὶ ἐὰν βεβαίως καὶ

tain a sort of success and an artistic
appearance, but the learner is no
artist as yet. (2) A fortiori, if mere
performance is no proof of art, much
less is it any proof of morals. For
the outward result in art is some-
thing sufficient in itself. But the
outward act in morals is not enough.
Hence those ‘just acts’ by which we
acquire justice, are, on nearer in-
spection, not really just; they want
the moral qualification of that settled
internal character in the heart and
mind of the agent, without which no
external act is virtuous in the highest
sense of the term. (3) As Aristotle
rarely meets a difficulty arising out of
his theories, without adding something
in depth or completeness to those
theories, so here, he deepens the con-
ception of virtue previously given, by
urging that knowledge is the least im-
portant element in it ; and that philo-
sophy without action is impotent to
attain it.

1 Knowledge; purpose; purity
of purpose (προαιρούμενος δι᾽ αὐτά),
formed and settled stability of cha-

racter, are the internal requisites for -
constituting a good act. Knowledge
is necessary to, and presupposed in,
purpose. We are told presently that
knowledge is of slight or no avail for
virtue, while the other elements are
all in all (πρὸς δὲ τὸ τὰς ἀρετὰς τὸ μὲν
εἰδέναι μικρὸν ἢ οὐδὲν ἰσχύει, τὰ δ᾽
ἄλλα οὐ μικρὸν ἀλλὰ τὸ πᾶν δύναται).
This isa reaction against the Socratico-
Platonic doctrine that virtue consists
in knowledge ; but Aristotle does not
mean more than this—that know-
ledge, if taken by itself, if separate
from the will, if merely existing in
the intellect, is of no avail. He
afterwards states very strongly the
opposite view, that he who has φρό-
yvnots has all the virtues. Eth. νι.
xiii, 6, vu. ii. 5.

προαιρούμενος δι᾽ αὐτά] Here would
have been the place for introducing
an allusion to the doctrine of moral
obligation, had such formed part of
Aristotle’s system. But he says not
that ‘ good acts must be done with a
feeling of duty,’ but that ‘they must
be chosen for their own sake.’ A

IV.—V. ] ΠΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEIQON II. 417

, 7 ~
ἀμετακινήτως ἔχων πράττη. ταῦτα δὲ πρὸς μὲν τὸ τὰς
yy , » » ~ Ἁ 3. EX ἈΝ "5 7
Arras τέχνας ἔχειν OU συναριθμεῖται, πλὴν αὐτὸ τὸ εἰδέναι"
4A ὃὲ Ν Ν > > 4, X ἰδέ A aA δὲ 5 Zz
πρὸς δὲ τὸ τὰς ἀρετὰς TO μὲν εἰδέναι μικρὸν ἢ οὐδὲν ἰσχύει,
Ν ie 3 \ > \ \ “ Ψι «“ > ~
τὰ δ᾽ ἄλλα οὐ μικρὸν ἀλλὰ TO πᾶν δύναται, ἅπερ ἐκ τοῦ
Ν Ψ \ ,
πολλάκις πράττειν τὰ δίκαια καὶ σώφρονα περιγίνεται.
" / 4 y
τὰ μὲν οὖν πράγματα δίκαια καὶ σώφρονα λέγεται, ὅταν 4
ΝΕ ~ = a ε dt nv ¢ / / ἐς ,
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a ~
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~ > \ δ INN f , > ,
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a , >>> κ᾿ Ἁ ‘ A
οὕτω θεραπευόμενοι, οὐδ᾽ οὗτοι τὴν ψυχὴν οὕτω φιλοσο-
Φοῦντες.
\ \ inn ἘΣ ΕΝ e: 9 \ te Wik a. Nhe
Μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα τί ἐστιν ἡ ἀρετὴ σκεπτέον. ἐπεὶ οὖνς
as Ὁ ~ ~ , ’ 3 ͵ / ἢ ς “
τὰ ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ γινόμενα τρία ἐστί, πάθη δυνάμεις ἕξεις,

good act must be chosen, loved, and
done because it is beautiful (ὅτι
καλόν). Aristotle does not analyse
further than this.

ἀμετακινήτω5}] No point is more
insisted on in these Ethics than the
stability of the moral ἕξεις, when once
formed. Cf. I. x. 10, I. x. 14, V. 1x.
14.

6 ἀλλ᾽ οἱ πολλοὶ---φιλοσοφοῦντες]
‘But most people, instead of doing
these things, take refuge in talK about
them, and flatter themselves that they
are studying philosophy, and are in a
fair way to become good men; which
conduct may be likened to that of
those sick people who listen atten-
tively to what their physician says,
but do not follow a tittle of his pre-
scriptions. Such a regimen will never
give health of body, nor such a philo-

sophy health of mind.’ We often
hear of ‘the modernisms in Plato.’
The above passage might be called a
modernism in Aristotle.

V. With this chapter commences
a new division of the Book, in which a
formal definition of virtue according to
substance or genus, and quality or
differentia, is given. We find the
conception of this kind of definition
already existing in Plato. Cf. Meno,
p-71 B: ἐμαυτὸν καταμέμφομαι as οὐκ
εἰδὼς περὶ ἀρετῆς τὸ παράπαν" ὃ δὲ μὴ
οἶδα τί ἐστι, πῶς ἂν ὁποῖόν γέ τι εἰδείην ;
Like other parts of logic it was elabo-
rated and made systematic by Ari-
stotle. See Essay III. In the pre-
sent chapter the τί ἐστιν ; of virtue is
established, that it is a ἕξις, or formed
state of mind. This is arrived at

HA

418

/ v » eS. 4
«τούτων ἂν τι Eby ἢ APETY.

ΠΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION II,

[ Cuar.

λέγω δὲ πάθη μὲν ἐπιθυμίαν

ὀργὴν φόβον θράσος φθόνον χαρὰν Φιλίαν μῖσος πόθον
ζῆλον ἔλεον, ὅλως οἷς ἕπεται ἡδονὴ ἢ λύπη, δυνάμεις δὲ
καθ᾿ ἃς παθητικοὶ τούτων λεγόμεθα, οἷον καθ᾿ ἃς δυνατοὶ
ὀργισθῆναι ἢ λυπηθῆναι ἢ ἐλεῆσαι, ἕξεις δὲ καθ᾽ ἃς πρὸς
τὰ πάθη ἔχομεν εὖ ἢ κακῶς, οἷον πρὸς τὸ ὀργισθῆναι, εἰ
μὲν σφοδρῶς ἢ ἀνειμένως, κακῶς ἔχομεν, εἰ δὲ μέσως, εὖ.

by assuming that every mode of the
mind must be one of three things,
either a feeling, a faculty, or a state,
and by proving that virtue is neither
a feeling, nor a faculty; whence by
the exhaustive process it remains that
it must bea state of mind. The form
of the argument here is the same as
that of £th. τ. vii. 9-14, where it is
demonstrated what is the proper func-
tion of man, and that of the argument
in Republic iv. p. 428-433, where the
nature and province of justice are
determined. Aristotle does not here
explain why he assumes that the
modes of mind are only three; but
the assumption no doubt rests upon
his doctrine of Quality. Virtue is a
quality (1 vi. 3: καὶ ἐν τῷ ποίῳ ai
ἀρεταί), and the category of Quality is
subdivided into four divisions (Cat.
vili.), (1) ἕξις and διάθεσις. (2) ὅσα κατὰ
δύναμιν φυσικὴν ἢ ἀδυναμίαν λέγεται.
(3) παθητικαὶ ποιότητες. (4) σχῆμα καὶ
μορφή. Of these the last is in the
present case excluded by its own
nature, and it is only necessary to
eliminate two of the remaining three.
Apart from the subdivision of the
category, the threefold partition of the
mind might be defended upon its own
merits ; for πάθος may be in a sense
identified with ἐνέργεια, and ἕξις is a
sort of determinate δύναμις,---ἃ δύναμις,
so to speak, on the other side of évép-
Granting to the human mind
the power of development, and of self-
determination by the law of habits, it

γειαι.

follows that every mode in which such
a mind exists, must either be its innate,

_undeveloped, and potential faculties,

its moments of consciousness, or its
acquired and formed tendencies and
states, "3

The arguments to prove that virtue
is not a πάθος, are (1) an appeal to
language. We are called ‘good’ or-
‘bad’ on account of virtue or vice ;
not on account of isolated feelings,
(2) A passion is by its nature involun-
tary; but virtue implies deliberate
choice (mpoalpecis). (3) An appeal
to language;" we speak of being
‘moved’ in regard to the feelings ; of
being ‘ disposed’ in regard to virtue or
vice, Again, for the same reason,
virtue is not a δύναμις. (1) Because
we are not ‘called good’ for our facul-
ties. (2) Because a faculty is some-
thing natural and innate (δυνατοὶ μέν
ἐσμεν φύσει), and virtue is not.

2 λέγω δὲ---εῦ ‘I mean by emo-
tions, desire, anger, fear, boldness,
envy, joy, friendship, hatred, longing,
emulation, pity; in short, everything
that is accompanied by pain or plea-
sure. I call those faculties, by reason
of which we are said to be capable of
feeling emotions, as, for instance,
capable of being angry, of suffering
pain, of feeling pity ; and I call those
states by which we stand in a certain
relation, good or bad, to the emotions ;
as, for instance, with regard to anger,
we are in a bad condition if our
anger is too violent or too slack, in a

V.—VI.] HOIKOQN NIKOMAXEIQN: II. 419

’ \
ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ πρὸς τἄλλα. πάθη μὲν οὖν οὐκ εἰσὶν οὔθ᾽ 3
ε » A aa « , “ » Ἀν A A /
αἱ ἀρεταὶ οὔθ᾽ αἱ κακίαι, ὅτι οὐ λεγόμεθα κατὰ τὰ πάθη
YN ~ x ~ \ \ \ > \ a» \ ΄

σπουδαῖοι ἢ φαῦλοι, κατὰ δὲ τὰς ἀρετὰς ἢ τὰς κακίας
λε 6 4 λσ \ \ \ 46 ς΄ ΘΕ τ᾿ , ῇ

γόμεθα, καὶ ὅτι κατὰ μὲν τὰ πάθη οὔτ᾽ ἐπαινούμεθα
»” / ~
οὔτε ψεγόμεθα (οὐ γὰρ ἐπαινεῖται ὃ Φοβούμενος οὐδὲ ὁ
» , “
ὀργιζόμενος, οὐδὲ ψέγεται ὁ ἁπλῶς ὀργιζόμενος ἀλλ᾽
- ϑο \ δὲ \ > ‘ \ A 4 > ΄ i) Ἄ
πῶς), κατὰ δὲ τὰς ἀρετὰς καὶ τὰς κακίας ἐπαινούμεθα ἢ
wv / § 57 > / 6 XV \ ’, 5 /
εγόμεθα. ἔτι ὀργιζόμεθα μὲν καὶ φοβούμεθα ἀπροαιρέ- 4
τως, αἱ δ᾽ ἀρεταὶ προαιρέσεις τινὲς ἢ οὐκ ἄνευ προαιρέσεως.

A ~
πρὸς δὲ τούτοις κατὰ μὲν τὰ πάθη κινεῖσθαι λεγόμεθα,
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κεῖσθαί πως. διὰ ταῦτα δὲ οὐδὲ δυνάμεις εἰσίν" οὔτε γὰρ ς
> § A ld § ~ D7 6 / ε ~n BA /
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μεν δὲ περὶ τούτου πρότερον. εἰ οὖν μήτε πάθη εἰσὶν αἱ 6

\ ΄

ἀρεταὶ μήτε δυνάμεις, λείπεται ἕξεις αὐτὰς εἶναι.

Ὅ τι Ν κὶ 5» \ ~ ’ ε > ’ 4 ἐν ὃ ~ δὲ 6

μὲν οὖν ἐστὶ τῷ γένει ἡ ἀρετή, εἴρηται" δεῖ δὲ

Or

good one, if we hit the happy medium.’
Aristotle contents himself with indi-
eating what he means by these diffe-
rent terms, instead of giving anything
like a scientific definition of them.
Thus he gives specimens of the feelings
in which there is no attempt at classi-

fication, ‘desire’ being a wider term.

than most of the others mentioned,
‘envy’ and ‘emulation’ being perhaps
different modes of the same feeling,
&c. The words used are throughout
informal, τὰ ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ γινόμενα --οἷς
ἕπεται ἡδονὴ----καθ᾽ ἃς δυνατοὶ ---καθ᾽ ἃς
παθητικοί. It is easy to see that a
deeper psychology might have stated
all that is here said in a different and
better way. In his account of ἕξεις
there is a play on words which it is
impossible to render, éfe:s—xaé’ as
ἔχομεν. Cf. the use of πως ἔχων in §
3 of the preceding chapter.

4 αἱ & ἀρεταὶ προαιρέσεις τινές]

This is an extreme ‘statement, in op-
position to the Socratic doctrine that
virtues were φρονήσεις, cf. Eth. vi.
xiii. 3. Aristotle immediately qualifies
it. There has been no proof of this
position as yet.

διακεῖσθαί πως] This word is very
common in Plato (as in other Greek).
Cf. Repub. τν. 431 B: ἀκόλαστον τὸν
οὕτω διακείμενον, &c. In the treatise
on the Categories, which bears Aris-
totle’s name, it is made to imply a
διάθεσις in contradistinction to ἔχειν,
which implies a ἕξις, Cat. viii. 5, of
μὲν γὰρ ἕξεις ἔχοντες καὶ διάκεινταί γέ
πως κατ᾽ αὐτάς, οἱ δὲ διακείμενοι οὐ
πάντως καὶ ἕξιν ἔχουσιν.

VI. Having stated the generic
conception of virtue {τί éors)—that it
is a developed state of mind, Aristotle
now proceeds to determine it more
exactly (ποία τι5). He lays the ground

HH 2

420

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQN II,

[ Cap.

\ ’ a 5" ~ a a > \ \ 7 ε ’
2 μὴ μόνον OUTWE εἰπεῖν, ὁτι ἕξις, ANAK καὶ ποῖοι τις. ρήτεον
“ a ~ > a εἰ a " > ΄ 3 / ». w#
οὖν ὅτι πᾶσα ἀρετή, οὗ ἂν ἦ ἀρετή, αὐτό τε εὖ ἔχον
9 “ ἈΝ 3 > ~ ῳ > ΤᾺ i ε ΄“
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~ ~ ~ \
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~ ~ ~ ~ ~ oe ~
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ὁμοίως ἡ τοῦ ἵππου ἀρετὴ ἵππον τε σπουδαῖον ποιεῖ καὶ
> ~ ~ ~ δὲ
ἀγαθὸν δραμεῖν καὶ ἐνεγκεῖν τὸν ἐπιβάτην καὶ μεῖναι τοὺς

w

πολεμίους.

> \ mw § 4% ΄ a 54 c ~
εἰ δὴ τοῦτ᾽ ἐπὶ πάντων οὕτως ἔχει, καὶ ἡ τοῦ

ἀνβρώπου ἀρετὴ εἴη ἂν ἕξις ἀφ᾽ ἧς ἀγαθὸς ἄνθρωπος γίνε-

for this more accurate determination,
by giving a summary (borrowed from
Plato) of the characteristics of ᾿Αρετή.
Every excellence is the perfection of
an object, and of the functions of that
object. Thus human excellence (or
virtue) will be the perfection of man,
and of the functions of man. This
leads us to inquire more narrowly
what are the characteristics of a perfect
ἔργον (the word is ambiguous, de-
noting ‘work of art,’ or ‘product of
nature, as well as ‘function’ or
‘province’). From the conception of
quantity, whether continuous (συνεχές)
or discrete (διαιρετόν), we get the
conception of more, less, and equal, or
excess, defect, and the mean, which
in the case of human action must not
be arithmetical but proportional (8 8
4-7). Now a glance at the arts
shows us that the skill of an artist
and the perfection of a work consist
in the attainment and exhibition of
the relative mean, so that nothing
can be added or taken away without
spoiling the effect (§§ 8-9). Accord-
ing to this analogy, virtue, which, like
nature, is finer than the finest art,
aims at the mean, avoiding excess and
deficiency in feeling and action
(§§ 10-13). To this account of the
essence of virtue witness is borne by
the Pythagorean doctrine, that right
is one, and wrong manifold (§ 14).
We need only qualify our theory and

our definition of virtue, by adding
that it is from an abstract point of
view alone we can call virtue ‘a mean
state.’ From a moral point of view
it is an extreme that is utterly re-
moved from its opposite, vice (§§ 15—
17), and we must not apply the notion
of the mean and the extremes to -
every act. Some acts are in them-
selves extremes, as, for instance, acts
of crime, and it will be impossible to
find a mean in such as these (§§ 18-
20).

2 ῥητέον οὖν --- πολεμίου] ‘We
must commence then by asserting
that every excellence both exhibits
that thing of which itis an excellence
in a good state, and also causes the
perfect performance of that thing’s
proper function, as, for instance, the
excellence of an eye makes the eye
good, and also the performance of
its function, for we see well from
the excellence of the eye. So, too,
the excellence of a horse makes him
both a good horse, and good in his
paces, in bearing his rider, and in
standing a charge.’ This is taken
almost verbatim from Plato, Repub.
I. p. 3538: "Ap ἄν ποτε ὄμματα τὸ
αὑτῶν ἔργον καλῶς ἀπεργάσαιντο μὴ
ἔχοντα τὴν αὑτῶν οἰκείαν ἀρετήν, κιτιλ.
An illustration had been drawn from
the horse and its excellence before in
the same book, p. 335 8.

3 εἰ δὴ τοῦτ᾽ ἐπὶ πάντων οὕτως ἔχει,

VL]

4 3 ᾽ vs “" ἈΠ οε “ΓΚ » ΄
ται καὶ ab ἧς εὖ τὸ εαυτοῦ Epyoy ἀποδώσει.

HOIKON NIKOMAXEION II.

421

πῶς 084

a δὲ VS 10 Ν δὲν δ μ4 δὲ \ δ δ᾽ ν᾿
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ρόν, ἐὰν θεωρήσωμεν ποία τίς ἐστιν ἡ φύσις αὐτῆς. ἐν
“ ~ Wo ~ ~
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ἐλλείψεως.

“ δὲ ~ Ν f , \ y
λέγω δὲ τοῦ μὲν πράγματος μέσον TO ἴσον 5

> / > ' 6 , n x a ° A A \ $3

ἄπεχον AP εκατέρου τῶν ἄκρων, ὁπερ ἐστὶν ἐν καὶ ταῦτον
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πᾶσιν, πρὸς MAC δὲ ὃ μητε πλεονάζει [ANTE ελλείπει.

τοῦτο δ᾽ οὐχ

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\ \ > \ wv 4
κατὰ τὴν ἀριθμητικὴν ἀναλογίαν.

Ν A \ ε ~ >
TO ὃε πρὸς ἡμᾶς οὐχ

a vA τ > \ y , ~ ~ \ la
οὕτω λήπτεον" οὐ yap εἴ TW δέκα μναῖ daysiv πολὺ δύο
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£ OAMYOY, ὁ ἀλείπτὴῆς ES μνὰς προστάξει ἔστι γὰρ ἴσως

καὶ 7 τοῦ ἀνθρώπου ἀρετὴ κιτ.λ.1 Ari-
stotle treats of human virtue as part
of a general law by which a// natural
objects fulfil their several functions,
and each in accordance with its own
proper excellence. He next passes to
the analogy of the arts, though he
regards virtue as higher than them,
and more akin to nature. (7 δ᾽ ἀρετὴ
πάσης τέχνης ἄκριβεστέρα καὶ ἀμείνων
ἐστίν, ὥσπερ καὶ ἣ φύσις). In the
present passage we have again to do
with the conception of the ἔργον of
man; see above Eth. τ. vii. 14.

4 πῶς δὲ τοῦτ᾽ ἔσται, ἤδη μὲν
εἰρήκαμεν} If any special passage is
referred to, it must be τι. iv. 3.

ἐν παντὶ δὴ συνεχεῖ καὶ διαιρετῷ]
‘ Now in all quantity both continuous
and discrete.’ The terms here are not
meant to go together, as if it were,
‘Tn all that is continuous, and at the
same time capable of division ;’ but
the two forms of quantity are referred
to, about which we read Categories vi.
1: τοῦ δὲ πόσου τὸ μέν ἐστι διωρισμέ-
νον, τὸ δὲ συνεχές.---Ἔστι δὲ διωρισ-
μένον μὲν οἷον ἀριθμὸς καὶ λόγος (a

word), συνεχὲς δὲ οἷον γραμμή, ἐπιφά-
νεια, σῶμα, ἔτι δὲ παρὰ ταῦτα χρόνος
Cf. Politics 1. v. 3: ὅσα
γὰρ ἐκ πλειόνων συνέστηκε,---εἴτε éx

καὶ τόπος.

συνεχῶν εἴτ᾽ ἐκ διῃρημένων. De Celo, τ.
i. 2

ς λέγω δὲ τοῦ μὲν πράγματο----
ἐλλείπει] ‘By an objective mean, I
understand that which is equidistant
from the two given extremes, and
which is one and the same to all, and
by a mean relatively to the person
(πρὸς ἡμᾶς), I understand that which
is neither too much nor too little.’
In this, as in many other places of
Aristotle, we desiderate a formula
expressive of the opposition between
the objective and subjective. Not
that there is a want of clearness here,
but if he had possessed the formula,
he would have applied it here, and
would by it have solved many an am-
biguity elsewhere existing.

7 κατὰ τὴν ἀριθμητικὴν ἀναλογίαν
ἦ.6. ‘Arithmetical progression,’ opposed
to ‘geometrical proportion, which
consists of four terms, cf. Eth. v.
iv. 3.

422 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQON II. [ CHar.

καὶ τοῦτο πολὺ τῷ ληψομένῳ ἢ ὀλίγον" Μίλωνι μὲν γὰρ
VA ~ w~ a

ὀλίγον, τῷ δὲ ἀρχομένῳ τῶν γυμνασίων πολύ. ὁμοίως

BON are 4 \ ~ ΄ \

8 ἐπὶ δρόμου καὶ πάλης. οὕτω δὴ πᾶς ἐπιστήμων THY ὑπερ-
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ἱρεῖται, μέσον δὲ οὐ τὸ τοῦ πράγματος M
Ν « ~ ~ ΄ a 57 >
οπρὸς ἡμᾶς. εἰ δὴ πᾶσα ἐπιστήμη οὕτω τὸ ἔργον εὖ ἐπι-
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τελεῖ, πρὸς τὸ μέσον βλέπουσα καὶ εἰς τοῦτο ἄγουσα τὰ
5, “ 77 5 7 ~ yy Ὶ 4 σ
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\ ~ ~ la
ναι καὶ λυπηθῆναι ἔστι καὶ μᾶλλον καὶ ἧττον, καὶ ἀμῷό-
τέρα οὐκ εὖ" τὸ δ᾽ ὅτε δεῖ καὶ ἐφ᾽ οἷς καὶ πρὸς οὗς καὶ
ΠΣ, ~ A ~
οὗ ἕνεκα καὶ we δεῖ, μέσον τε καὶ ἄριστον, ὅπερ ἐστὶ τῆς
» - ς ΄ \ \ Ν ΄, > Δ δ
12 ἀρετῆς. ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ περὶ τὰς πράξεις ἐστὶν ὑπερβολὴ

Μίλωνι μὲν γὰρ ὀλίγον] This illus-
tration may remind us of the humour-
ous turn in Plato’s Republic, p. 338 ¢,
where, on Thrasymachus defining jus-
tice to be τὸ τοῦ κρείττονος ξυμφέρον,
Socrates answers, ὦ Θρασύμαχε, τί
ποτε λέγεις ; οὐ γάρ που τό γε τοιόνδε
φῇς᾽ εἰ Πουλυδάμας ἡμῶν κρείττων 6
παγκρατιαστὴς καὶ αὐτῷ ξυμφέρει τὰ
βόεια κρέα πρὸς τὸ σῶμα, τοῦτο τὸ
σιτίον εἶναι καὶ ἡμῖν τοῖς ἥττοσιν ἐκείνου
Cf. Eraste,
Ῥ- 134, quoted above on 1. ii. 6.

g εἰ δὴ---ἔργα] ‘If, then, every art
thus completes its work, namely, by
looking to the mean and conducting
its results to this. With the theory
of art here stated ef. Politics, m. xiii.
21, Δῆλον δὲ τοῦτο καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν ἄλλων

ξυμφέρον ἅμα καὶ δίκαιον.

τεχνῶν καὶ ἐπιστημῶν, οὔτε γὰρ γραφεὺς

ἐάσειεν ἂν τὸν ὑπερβάλλοντα πόδα τῆς
συμμετρίας ἔχειν τὸ ζῷον, οὐδ᾽ εἰ διαφέροι
τὸ κάλλος. And on the general doe-
trine of μεσότης, its history, and its
applications, see Essay IV.

10 λέγω δὲ τὴν HOuhy] The intel-
lectual ἀρεταί are not μεσότητες, for ᾿
this simple reason—that they are
λόγοι; the ‘laws’ or ‘standards’ of
the balance which is to be introduced
into the passions.

11 τὺ δ᾽ ὅτε dei—dperjs| ‘But to
haye these feelings at the right time,
and on occasion of the right things,
and towards the right persons, and
with the right object, and in the right
manner, this is the golden mean and
the highest excellence, names which
are proper to virtue.’ From the men-
tion of all these qualifications it is

VI.J ΠΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION IL. 423

καὶ ἔλλειψις καὶ τὸ μέσον. ἡ δ᾽ ἀρετὴ περὶ πάθη καὶ
/ 5 ΄ 5 ε \ ε Ἁ ε , 6
πράξεις ἐστίν, ἐν οἷς ἡ μὲν ὑπερβολὴ ἁμαρτάνεται καὶ ἡ
ἔλλειψις ψέγεται, τὸ δὲ μέσον ἐπαινεῖται καὶ κατορθοῦται"
ταῦτα δ᾽ ἄμφω τῆς ἀρετῆς. μεσότης τις ἄρα ἐστὶν ἡ
ἀρετή, στοχαστική γε οὖσα τοῦ μέσου. ἔτι τὸ μὲν ἁμαρ-
τάνειν πολλαχῶς ἔστιν (τὸ γὰρ κακὸν τοῦ ἀπείρου, ὡς οἱ
Πυθαγόρειοι εἴκαζον, τὸ δ᾽ ἀγαθὸν τοῦ πεπερασμέ τὸ
γόρ : γαθὸν ρασμένου), τὸ
\ ~ ~ Ν \ Ν ‘ e IN \ Ἀ
δὲ κατορθοῦν μοναχῶς" διὸ καὶ τὸ μὲν ῥάδιον τὸ δὲ χαλε-
᾿ὔ ἃε δ Ἁ A > ~ ~ ~ QA Ν A
TOV, ῥάδιον μὲν TO ἀποτυ χεῖν τοῦ σκοποῦ, χαλεπὸν δὲ τὸ
5 ~ \ ~ > ~ ‘ yA ε
ἐπιτυχεῖν. καὶ διὰ ταῦτ᾽ οὖν τῆς μὲν κακίας ἡ ὑπερβολὴ
Δ ὅ6 ~ > 3 ~ ε /
καὶ ἡ ἔλλειψις, τῆς δ᾽ ἀρετῆς ἡ μεσότης"
ἐσθλοὶ μὲν γὰρ ἁπλῶς, παντοδαπῶς δὲ κακοί.
3 " ε > \ a ν᾿ 5) ,
Εστιν ἄρα ἡ ἀρετὴ ἕξις προαιρετική, ἐν μεσότητι
> me \ ΠΕ ε 7, , ee: an τ , δ
οὖσα τῇ πρὸς ἡμᾶς, ὡρισμένη λόγῳ καὶ ὡς ἂν 6 φρόνιμος
4
ὁρίσειεν.
τῆς δὲ κατ᾽ ἔλλειψιν" καὶ ἔτι τῷ τὰς μὲν ἐλλείπειν τὰς
δ᾽
vd ‘ δ. Χ Ν , \ eed \ δι Ὁ»
πράξεσι, τὴν δ᾽ ἀρετὴν τὸ μέσον καὶ εὑρίσκειν καὶ αἱρεῖ-
\ 4 Ν Ἁ » ᾿ \ \ 4 ᾿ “,
σθαι. διὸ κατὰ μὲν THY οὐσίαν καὶ τὸν λόγον τὸν τί ἣν
ὅ , ΄ 5 Α eS , A QS A wv
εἶναι λέγοντα μεσότης ἐστὶν ἡ ἀρετή, κατὰ δὲ τὸ ἄριστον

easy to see that Aristotle means by
his μέσον to establish something more
than a merely quantitative difference
between vice and virtue.

14 ἔτι τὸ μὲν Gyaprdvery—povaxas |
‘Again it is possible to err in many
ways (for evil belongs to the infinite,
as the Pythagoreans figured, and good
to the finite), but to do right is possible
only in one way.’ See Essays II. and
IV. The authorship of the verse
ἐσθλοὶ μὲν yap k.7.A. is unknown. -

15 ἔστιν ἄρα---ὁρίσειεν͵)]͵ ‘Virtue,
therefore, is a developed state of the
moral purpose in relative balance,
determined by a standard, according
as the wise man would determine.’
In two places already, Hh. τι. iv. 3,
and πὶ v. 4, we have met with the
tacit assumption that virtue implies
προαίρεσις. This is justified by the

account of προαίρεσις, and its relation
to action, in the next book. The other
terms of the definition have been
sufficiently established in the progress
of this book. The reference to the
φρόνιμος aS an impersonation of the
‘law’ or ‘standard’ of reason is a
necessary modification of what would
else be an entirely relative, individual,
and arbitrary, theory of virtue. If the
λόγος of the individual is to be a
valid judge of all action, this will be
returning to the sophistic principle
πάντων μέτρον ἄνθρωπος. The ‘wise
man’ stands as the representative of
the absolute reason of man manifested
in the individual consciousness. This
ideal was prominent in the Cynic and
Cyrenaic systems, as afterwards with
the Stoies.

17 Διὸ κατὰ μὲν τὴν ovolav—axpdtns}

13
14

μεσότης δὲ δύο κακιῶν, τῆς μὲν καθ᾽ ὑπερβολὴν -

“ / Ww ~ ~
ὑπερβάλλειν τοῦ δέοντος ἔν τε τοῖς πάθεσι καὶ ἐν ταῖς.

οο

424

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIOQON II.

[ Car.

\ \ γι ον , > ~ ΠῚ ei ~ CANS!
καὶ τὸ εὖ axpoTys. οὐ πᾶσα δ᾽ ἐπιδέχεται πρᾶξις οὐδὲ
πᾶν πάθος τὴν μεσότητα" ἔνια γὰρ εὐθὺς ὠνόμασται

‘Virtue, therefore, if viewed in the
light of its essence and its constitutive
conception, is a mean state, but with
respect to supreme excellence, and
rightness, it is an extreme.’ This
passage implies that the term Μεσότης
is an abstract and metaphysical ex-
pression for the law of virtue, esti-
mated by the understanding (though
doubtless the deepest view attainable) ;
but that viewed in relation to the
good, or (as we should say) from a
moral point of view,—virtue is no
mean state lying between vices (as if
virtue were a little less vice, and vice

_a little more virtue), but an extreme,

that is, utterly removed from, and
opposed to, vice. It is a profound
remark, showing the balance in Ari-
stotle between an abstract and a
concrete view of morals. With regard
to the terminology here employed,
the word οὐσία is, as Aristotle himself
tells us, to a certain extent ambiguous
(cf. Metaphys. vi. iii. 1: Δέγεται δ᾽ ἡ
οὐσία, εἰ μὴ πλεοναχῶς, GAN ἐν τέτταρσί
γε μάλιστα" καὶ γὰρ τὸ τί ἣν εἶναι καὶ
τὸ καθόλου καὶ τὸ γένος οὐσία δοκεῖ
εἶναι ἑκάστου καὶ τέταρτον τούτων τὸ
It is made definite
however in the present place by the
addition of the phrasé καὶ τὸν λόγον
τὸν τί ἦν εἶναι λέγοντα, which may be
regarded here as an explanation of
On λόγον--- λέγοντα, cf. De
Motu Animalium x. 1: κατὰ μὲν οὖν
τὸν λόγον τὸν λέγοντα Thy αἰτίαν τῆς
κινήσεως. The formula τί ἣν εἶναι,
like other leading parts of Aristotle’s
philosophy, appears in his works as
already established. Though no trace
of it is to be found in Plato, familia-

ὑποκείμενον).

οὐσία.

rity with its use is presupposed by.

Aristotle, and no account of its genesis
is given. Its metaphysical import is

discussed in Metaphys. v1. iv—xi, from
which we gather (1) that τί ἣν εἶναι
implies the essential nature of a thing
(ἕκαστον ὃ λέγεται καθ᾽ αὑτό) to the
exclusion of all that is accidental ;
(2) that it is the definition of a thing,
but not of all things, for it excludes
all material associations, hence that
to a conception like omérns you
cannot assign a τί ἦν εἶναι; (3) that
it is no mere abstraction, but closely
connected with individual existence,
and implying what the Germans call
Daseyn ; hence it is separable from
the καθόλου or universal element in a
thing,—it implies this, but also some-
thing more. From the concreteness
of its nature, it also differs from the
Platonic idea, with which it has much
in common, being the immaterial,
primal, and archetypal law of the
being of things ; (4) ‘The knowledge
of a thing,’ says Aristotle, ‘ consists
in knowing its τί ἦν εἶναι᾽ (Metaphys.
vi. vi. 6). With this important con-
ception in his theory of knowledge
and of existence we may compare to
some extent the ‘Forms’ of Bacon,
which were no doubt borrowed from
it. But fully to comprehend the τί
ἣν εἶναι implies mastering the meta-
physical system of Aristotle. With
regard to the grammar of the formula
we are left to conjecture, and accord-
ingly at least two erroneous explana-
tions have been given. (1) That of
Alexander Aphrod. ad Top.1. (Brandis,
Scholia, p. 256 a 43), that ἣν is simply
used for ἐστί, whereas we find a fre-
quent contrast between the formula
τί ἣν and τί ἐστί. (2) The whole
phrase has been translated ‘substantia
que est, etsi preeterita,’ as though τί ἣν
could be used for ὅπερ ἣν. Τί ἦν is
of course a question, and has been

VI—VIL]

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION II.

425

, \ ~ / La 3 vA
συνειλημμένα μετὰ τῆς φαυλότητος, οἷον ἐπιχαιρεκακία
+ ΝΑ τὴν ~ /
ἀναισχυντία φθόνος, καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν πράξεων μοιχεία κλοπὴ
/ \ ~ \ ~
ἀνδροφονία" πάντα yap ταῦτα καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα ψέγεται
re ~ > > ΡΨ
τῷ αὐτὰ ᾧΦαῦλα εἶναι, ἀλλ᾽ οὐχ αἱ ὑπερβολαὶ αὐτῶν οὐδ᾽
bs . , > 3 “ δέ \ > \
αἱ ἐλλείψεις. οὐκ ἔστιν οὖν οὐδέποτε περὶ αὑτὰ κατορ-
i \ , 2 +” ΒΕ
θοῦν, ἀλλ᾽ ἀεὶ ἁμαρτάνειν" οὐδ᾽ ἔστι τὸ εὖ ἢ μὴ εὖ περὶ

Α nw “ ~ A ὃ ~ \a A ε / 5 >
τὰ τοιαῦτα EV τῷ Ἣν OE καὶ OTE καὶ ὡς μοιχεύειν, ἀλλ

~ A ~ ~ ΄ ε 4
ἁπλῶς τὸ ποιεῖν ὁτιοῦν τούτων ἁμαρτάνειν ἐστίν.

a7
ὁμοιον το

> ~ A ‘ A: » ~ VD rs
οὖν τὸ ἀξιοῦν καὶ περὶ τὸ ἀδικεῖν καὶ δειλαίνειν καὶ ἀκολα-
7 / \ \ \
σταίνειν εἶναι μεσότητα καὶ ὑπερβολὴν καὶ ἔλλειψιν" ἔσται
\ a ε ~ a Na / ΄ \oe¢
yap οὕτω γε ὑπερβολῆς καὶ ἐλλείψεως βεσοτὴς καὶ ὑπερ-

βολῆς ὑπερβολὴ καὶ ἔλλειψις ἐλλείψεως.

ὥσπερ δὲζο

΄ 37
σωφροσύνης καὶ ἀνδρείας οὐκ ἔστιν ὑπερβολὴ καὶ ἔλλειψις
wv
διὰ τὸ τὸ μέσον εἶναί πως ἄκρον, οὕτως οὐδὲ ἐκείνων μεσό-
35, «ε Ὦ
τῆς οὐδὲ ὑπερβολὴ καὶ ἔλλειψις, ἀλλ᾽ εἷς ἂν πράττηται
ε 7, a Στ \ ὅδ᾽ ε ~ τ «ὦ ,
αἀμαρτάνεται" ὅλως γὰρ οὐ ὑπερβολῆς καὶ ἐλλείψεως
/ > , Ὑ / ce Ἁ \ ὦ
μεσότης ἐστίν, OUTE μεσοτΉτος ὑπερβολὴ καὶ ἔλλειψις,
~ ~ ῇ,
Δεῖ 02 τοῦτο μὴ μόνον καθόλου λέγεσθαι, ἀλλὰ καὶ

represented by the term Quwidditas in
the Scholastic Latin. The preterite
ἣν appears used to express the prior,
i.e. the deeper and more essential
nature of a thing. ‘What was the
essence of the thing?’ (é.¢. before its
present individual manifestation). Cf.
Metaphys. v1. vii. 6: “ῶστε συμβαίνει
τρόπον τινὰ ἐξ ὑγιείας τὴν ὑγίειαν γίνε-
σθαι καὶ τὴν οἰκίαν ἐξ οἰκίας, τῆς ἄνευ
ὕλης τὴν ἔχουσαν ὕλην.----Λέγω δὲ οὖσ ίαν
ἄνευ ὕλης τὸ τί ἦν εἶναι. It is difficult
to say what was the original phrase of
which the three words are a disjointed
remnant. Probably it may have been
as follows, τί ἦν ἀνθρώπῳ εἶναι ἀνθρώπῳ.
‘What was that property in man
which constitutes the conception of
his being a man?’ Elva is used in
Aristotle especially to denote the con-
ception or inner essence of a thing,
ef. Eth, v. i. 20. We may observe
that εἶναι is never affixed to the ques-

tion τί ἐστι, which implies a more
superficial and accidental account.

VII. Aristotle now passes on to
the exemplification of his general law
of virtue in the various separate
virtues. He gives accordingly a list
of virtues, and shows that they are
severally mean states between various
extremes. ‘This list forms a table of
contents for Books III. and IV.,
which treat of the virtues here men-
tioned, and in the order here given.
The question arises—upon what prin-
ciple is this list formed? We find
at once that Aristotle has resorted to
experience. He has not contented
himself with applying his law to the
previously recognised divisions of
virtue. He has abandoned the old
enumeration of four cardinal virtues,
given in Plato’s Republic, p. 428 (and
on which most of the reasoning in

Il

426

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION II.

[Cmap.

~ > ε΄ 3 , ’ ἈΝ ~ \
τοῖς καθ᾿ ἕκαστα ἐφαρμόττειν" ἐν γὰρ τοῖς περὶ τὰς
πράξεις λόγοις οἱ μὲν καθόλου Ἱκενώτεροί εἶσιν, οἱ δ᾽ ἐπὶ

that book depends), namely, courage,
temperance, justice, wisdom; but
these all reappear in his list, only not
on the same level with each other.
Wisdom is divided into φρόνησις and
copia, of which the first is made the
standard of moral virtue, and the
other stands apart as a perfection of
the pure intellect. Justice is separated
from other practical virtues, as being
something externally determined (cf.
Eth. v. v. 17). Plato gives, in the
Protagoras, p. 349 B, another list of
five virtues, holiness (ὁσιότης) being
added to the other four; this answers
to εὐσέβεια, which is frequently men-
tioned as a yirtue by the Socrates of
Xenophon. Aristotle omits it alto-
gether, probably on account of the
separation he made between ethics
and religion. With this exception,
Aristotle’s list of virtues implies the
same view of life as Plato’s, only it
goes more into detail and aims at
more completeness. In the present
chapter ten virtues are enumerated,
to which are added modesty and in-
dignation, two mean states in the
feelings; and justice is mentioned as
something to be treated of separately.
In departing from the unity of a law
to enumerate its exemplifications,
there must always be something arbi-
trary. Why so many and no more?
It would seem as if Aristotle applied
his principle to the virtues ready at
hand, and then afterwards believed in
his own list as complete. (Cf. Eth.
Il, Vil. 9, viv δὲ περὶ τῶν λοιπῶν. τι,
vii. 11, ῥητέον οὖν κιτιλ.; τη. γ. 23,
ἅμα δ᾽ ἔσται δῆλον καὶ πόσαι εἰσίν.)
In the Phetoric τ. ix. 5—13, we finda
list of virtues (or, as they are called,
Μέρη ἀρετῆϑΞ) given, which is identical
with the present (omitting, how-

ever, φιλοτιμία, εὐτραπελία, ἀλήθεια,
φιλία), μέρη δὲ ἀρετῆς δικαιοσύνη,
ἀνδρία, σωφροσύνη, μέγαλοπρέπεια,
μεγαλοψυχία, ἐλευϑεριότης, πραότης,
φρόνησις, σοφία, Of those omitted it
is probable that the first was included
in μεγαλοψυχία, while the other three
were excluded as possessing a less
degree of moral importance. Even
here Aristotle seems to set them on a
somewhat lower footing than the rest.

1 tf κενώτεροι] The MSS. vary here
between κενώτεροι and κοινότεροι. A
similar variation is found Eth. m1. viii.
6, where the readings are πολλὰ κενά
and πολλὰ καινά, Bekker has decided
against the majority of MSS. in favour
of κενώτεροι. The Paraphrast how-
ever supports the other reading. He
renders the passage, τῶν γὰρ περὶ ras
πράξεις λόγων of μὲν καθολικοὶ κοινό-
τεροι καὶ πλείοσιν ἐφαρμόζουσιν " οἱ δὲ
μερικοὶ ἀληθινώτερο. Dr. Cardwell
accordingly reads κοινότεροι, which
seems most natural, and is supported
by the best MSS, ΚΡ and L> of Bekker,
Whichever reading we take, the general
meaning is not affected. κενώτεροι,
which would be a term of disparage-
ment, is well illustrated by Eth, Bud.
I. Vi. 4: πολλάκις λανθάνουσι λέγοντες
ἀλλοτρίους λόγους τῆς πραγματείας Kar
κενούς. Κοινότεροι means ‘more gene-
ral,’ ‘of wider application.’ Cf. ΤΕ δ. τε.
ii. 2: τὸ μὲν οὖν κατὰ τὸν ὀρθὸν λόγον
πράττειν κοινὸν καὶ ὑποκείσθω. Ac-
cordingly with this reading we may
translate the passage Δεῖ δὲ---διαγραφῆς
as follows: ‘This principle however
must not only be stated universally,
but also we must apply it to particular
eases; for in theories about moral
actions universal statements are it is
true of wider application, but parti-
cular ones are more real, For actions

VIL]

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION II.

427

μέρους ἀληβινώτεροι" περὶ γὰρ τὰ καθ᾿ ἕκαστα αἱ πρά-

ἕξεις, δέον δ᾽ ἐπὶ τούτων συμφωνεῖν.

/ ΞΕ ~
ληπτέον οὖν ταῦτα

ἐκ τῆς διαγραφῆῇς. περὶ μὲν οὖν φόβους καὶ θάρρη ἀνδρεία 2
μεσότης" τῶν δ᾽ ὑπερβαλλόντων ὁ μὲν τῇ ἀφοβίᾳ ἀνώνυ-
μος (πολλὰ δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἀνώνυμα), ὁ δ᾽ ἐν τῷ θαρρεῖν ὑπερ-
βάλλων θρασύς, ὃ δὲ τῷ μὲν φοβεῖσθαι ὑπερβάλλων τῷ δὲ

θαρρεῖν ἐλλείπων δειλός.

A ε
περὶ ἡδονὰς δὲ καὶ λύπας, 003

, “ δὲ \ \ ἈΝ 7 7, ᾿
πάσας, ἧττον δὲ καὶ περὶ τὰς λύπας, μεσότης μὲν σωᾷρο.
΄ ε eS ge , ; 7 4 : ᾿
ouvy, ὑπερβολὴ ε ἀκολασία. ελλείποντες δὲ περί τὰς
Soe
ἡδονὰς ov πάνυ γίνονται" διόπερ οὐδ᾽ ὀνόματος τετυχή-

50.» e ~ ἊΨ A > ,
κασιν οὐδ᾽ οἱ τοιοῦτοι, ἔστωσαν δὲ ἀναίσθητοι.

περὶ δὲς

δόσιν χρημάτων καὶ λῆψιν μεσότης μὲν ἐλευθεριότης, ὑπερ-
βολὴ δὲ καὶ ἔλλειψις ἀσωτία καὶ ἀνελευθερία. ἐναντίως

~ \
δ᾽ ἑαυταῖς ὑπερβάλλουσι καὶ ἐλλείπουσιν: ὁ

ὁ μὲν γὰρ

=

ἄσωτος ἐν μὲν προέσει ὑπερβάλλει ἐν δὲ λήψει ἐλλείπει, ὃ

are concerned with particulars, and it
is necessary that our theories should
be borne out when applied to these.
Let us take our instances then from
the table of the virtues.’

ἀληθινώτεροι] ‘more real,’ as being
more concrete and more definite.
Plato would have said the universal
is more real; here, and in Categories
v. 8, it is said that the particular is
more real than the universal. In the
Politics τ. xiii. το, Gorgias is praised
for enumerating the separate virtues,
while others contentedthemselves with
general definitions. Καθόλου γὰρ of
λέγοντες ἐξαπατῶσιν ἑαυτούς, ὅτι τὸ
εὖ ἔχειν τὴν ψυχὴν ἀρετή, ἢ τὸ ὀρθο-
πραγεῖν, ἤ τι τῶν τοιούτων' πολὺ γὰρ
ἄμεινον λέγουσιν οἱ ἐξαριθμοῦντες τὰς
ἀρετάς, ὥσπερ Τοργίας, τῶν “οὕτως
ὁριζομένων. This is directed against
the Meno of Plato, where Socrates
urges that it is absolutely necessary
to know the law of virtue as a unity,
instead of regarding it in its multi-
farious exhibitions. Aristotle, wishing
to establish a practical theory of vir-
tue, returns to the concrete,

Ir2

ἐκ τῆς διαγραφῆς] Ὑπογραφῆς is the
word in the corresponding passage of
the Eudemian Ethics, τα. iii., where a
formal table is given, containing four-
teen virtues with their respective pairs
of extremes. In this place either some
already existing ‘table’ or ‘scheme’
of the virtues is referred to; or the
expression may be intended to be
merely fanciful, ‘the complete table
of the virtues’ being something ideal.
It is difficult not to think that the
present list is tentative, and that the
one above quoted in the Rhetoric con-
tains a summary of its results,

2 ὁ μὲν τῇ ἀφοβίᾳ κιτ.λ.1 It is a
sign that Aristotle is here only work-
ing his way to his theory of the mean,
that he at first speaks as if there
were excess and defect of both the
two opposite principles, by the balance
of which virtue is constituted. This
would make four vices round each
virtue. But it is obviously more
simple to speak of each virtue as a
balance of a positive and a negative
tendency: which view he afterwards
adopts, though he retains the present

428 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIOQON II. j Cuar.

> \ ΄ ε , 5 \ ,
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πρεπὴς διαφέρει ἐλευθερίου O μὲν γὰρ περί μεγάλα, ὁ
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’ ~ \ ΄
τὴν ἐλευθεριότητα, πῇ δὲ διαφέρουσιν, ὕστερον ῥηθήσεται.
3 ᾿
γπερὶ δὲ τιμὴν καὶ ἀτιμίαν μεσότης μὲν μεγαλοψυχία,
ὑπερβολὴ δὲ χαυνότης τις λεγομένη, ἔλλειψις δὲ μικροψυ-
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πρὸς τὴν μεγαλοψυχίαν, περὶ τιμὴν οὖσαν μεγάλην, αὐτὴ
περὶ μικρὰν οὖσα" ἔστι γὰρ ὡς δεῖ ὀρέγεσθαι τιμῆς καὶ
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καλοῦμεν ἔστι δ᾽ ὅτε ἀφιλότιμον, καὶ ἔστιν ὅτε μὲν ἐπαι-
ονοῦμεν τὸν Φιλότιμον ἔστι δ᾽ ὅτε τὸν ἀφιλότιμον, διοὶ
τίνα δ᾽ αἰτίαν τοῦτο ποιοῦμεν, ἐν τοῖς ἑξῆς ῥηθήσεται" νῦν
δὲ περὶ τῶν λοιπῶν λέγωμεν κατὰ τὸν ὑφηγημένον τρόπον.
τοἔστι δὲ καὶ περὶ ὀργὴν ὑπερβολὴ καὶ ἔλλειψις καὶ μεσότης,

refinement with regard to courage in
the fuller account of this virtue in
Book III.

5 ὕστερον δὲ ἀκριβέστερον)] All de-
tails with regard to the several virtues
may be accordingly reserved for con-
sideration under Books III. and IV.

6 ἄλλαι διαθέσει5] ‘other disposi-
tions.’ The word is used here as a
synonym for ἕξεις, though in Cate-
gories Vili. 1, ἕξις is distinguished from
διάθεσις. Ἕν μὲν οὖν εἶδος ποιότητος
ἕξις καὶ διάθεσις λεγέσθωσαν > διαφέρει
δὲ ἕξις διαθέσεως τῷ πολὺ χρονιώτερον
εἶναι καὶ μονιμώτερον. In the same

way διακεῖσθαι is there opposed to
ἔχειν, whereas, Eth, 1. v. 4, it is used
as equivalent to it. .

9 κατὰ τὸν ὑφηγημένον τρόπον] “ Ac-
cording to the method which has
hitherto guided us,’ τύπῳ x.7.A. (ef. 8
5). The same phrase occurs Polities
I.i, 3: Δῆλον δ᾽ ἔσται τὸ λεγόμενον
ἐπισκοποῦσι κατὰ τὴν ὑφηγημένην μέθο-
δον. The word frequently occurs in
Plato. Cf. Protagoras, p. 326 ἢ: κατὰ
τὴν ὑφήγησιν τῶν γραμμῶν. Repub. m.
p.4038: εἰ ὅσον τοὺς τύπους ὑφηγησαί-
μεθα. Phedo, p. 82 Ὁ: ἧ φιλοσοφία
ὑφηγεῖται.

VIL]

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION II.

429

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σκος, εἰ δ᾽ ὠφελείας τῆς αὑτοῦ, κόλαξ, ὃ δ᾽ ἐλλείπων καὶ

11. ῥητέον οὖν---εὐπαρακολουθήτου]
‘These also must accordingly be dis-
cussed, in order to show still more
clearly that in everything the mean is
praiseworthy, while the extremes are
neither right nor praiseworthy, but
blameable. Now most of these qua-
lities are without names; bat we
must endeavour, as in other cases,
to make names ourselves for the sake
of clearness and of being easily fol-
lowed.’ After discussing ἀλήθεια,
the author of the Magna Moralia says
Ei μὲν οὖν εἰσὶν αὗται ἀρεταὶ ἢ μὴ
ἀρεταί, ἄλλος ἄν εἴη λόγος: ὅτι δὲ
μεσότητές εἶσι τῶν εἰρημένων, δῆλον, οἱ

γὰρ κατ᾽ αὐτὰς ζῶντες ἐπαινοῦνται (I.
XXXili. 2).

πειρατέον κιτ.λ.} Aristotle’s method
consists partly in accepting experience
as shown in common language, &c.,
partly in rectifying it, or re-stating it
from his own point of view; partly
in finding new expressions for it, so
as to discover men’s thought to them-
selves. He usually rather fixes the
meaning of words, than creates new
ones. For instance, he here assigns
a peculiar and limited meaning to
ἀλήθεια and φιλία. His influence
upon the forms of language of civi-
lised Europe can hardly be overrated.

[ Cuar.

430 HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION IL.

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τοῖς πάθεσι καὶ ἐν τοῖς περὶ τὰ πάθη μεσότητες" ἡ γὰρ
αἰδὼς ἀρετὴ μὲν οὐκ ἔστιν, ἐπαινεῖται δὲ καὶ 6 αἰδήμων.
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καὶ ἡδονὴν τὰς ἐπὶ τοῖς συμβαίνουσι τοῖς πέλας γινομένας"
« ~ φ. ὃ ~ lA ow
ὁ μὲν γὰρ νεμεσητικὸς λυπεῖται ἐπὶ τοῖς ἀναξίως εὖ πράτ-
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ται, ὃ δ᾽ ἐπιχαιρέκακος τοσοῦτον ἐλλείπει τοῦ λυπεῖσθαι

It is far greater than has ever been
exercised by any one man beside.
14—15 Aristotle winds up his list by
adding Aidés and Νέμεσις, which he
does not consider virtues, because
they are not developed states of mind,
but he mentions them, because he
discovers the law of the balance
(μεσότης), existing even in these
natural instincts. There is something
peculiarly Greek in the conjunction of
these two names. In Greek mythology
they are personified and seem to re-
present the natural and almost in-
destructible ideas of justice in the
human mind, Hesiod speaks of these
two goddesses as being the last to
clothe themselves in white raiment
and to leave the earth. (Works and
Days, 198.) In the fable which Plato
puts into the mouth of Protagoras
these qualities are suid to have been
sent down to man as an amelioration of
his previously wretched condition,
without society or the political art
(Plato, Protagoras, p. 322 ©, where,
however, the names are αἰδώς and δίκη.)
They seem related to one another as
the instinct of honour to the instinct
of right—z, 6. to be two slightly differ-
ing phases of the same principle, the
first being rather a sensitiveness about
right iz oneself, the second about right
external to oneself. Aids is further

discussed in Book IV., but Νέμεσις is
not again alludedto. This is probably
owing to the unfinished condition of
the Ethics, which indeed first begins
to show itself at the close of Book IV,
See Essay I.

15 νέμεσις 5t—yxalpew] ‘But in-
dignation is a balance between envy
and malice. Now these are concerned
with pain and pleasure resulting on
what happens to others. For the
indignant man is pained at those who
prosper unworthily, but the envious
man, exceeding him, is pained at all
(who prosper), while the malicious
man is so far defective in feeling pain
as even to rejoice.’ This paragraph
is a striking instance of crudeness,
which the least after-reflection would
have remedied. It is obvious that
φθόνος (envy), and ἐπιχαιρεκακία (ma-
lice), are only different forms of the ἡ
same state of mind. Hence they can-
not be opposed as two extremes.
Again, the ἐπιχαιρέκακος cannot be
said τοσοῦτον ἐλλείπειν ὥστε k.7.A.,
for he does not rejoice at the success
of the good which the envious man
grieves at. He rejoices at the mis-
fortunes of the good. This mistake
is set right by Eudemus (nm. iii. 4),
who, in his list, writes φθόνος, ἀνώνυ-
pov, νέμεσις. Of course the opposite
to φθόνος must be ἀναισθησία tis.

VIL.—VIIL]

“ ‘ ,
WOTE και χαιρειν.

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION II,

451

4A
ἀλλὰ περὶ μὲν τούτων καὶ ἄλλοθι τό

Υ oY ζ Σ δὲ ὃ ΄ 3. δ σε δος ~ ,
καιρὸς ἔσται" περὶ δὲ δικαιοσύνης, ἐπεὶ οὐχ ἁπλῶς λέγε-
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᾿ς ~ ~ ~
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~~ a
ταῖς ἄκραις" ὥσπερ γὰρ τὸ ἴσον πρὸς μὲν τὸ ἔλαττον

Aristotle, by the time he wrote his
Rhetoric, was clear on the point, cf.
Rhet. τι. ix. 5: Ὁ yap αὐτός ἐστιν
ἐπιχαιρέκακος καὶ φθονερός. Socrates
in Xen. Memor. m. ix. 8 defines
φθόνος as it is here defined, Mévous
ἔφη φθονεῖν τοὺς ἐπὶ ταῖς. τῶν φίλων
εὐπραξίαις ἀνιωμένους. Plato does not
separate envy and malice, ef. Philebus,
p. 48 B: Ὁ φθονῶν γε ἐπὶ κακοῖς τοῖς
τῶν πέλας ἡδόμενος ἄναφανήσεται.
Socrates is there arguing that φθόνος
being granted to be a painful feeling,
it yet constitutes the chief element in
comedy, so that in comedy there is a
mixture of pain with pleasure.

16 ἀλλὰ περὶ μὲν τούτων ---εἶσιν
‘But about these points in the first
place we shall have another opportu-
nity of speaking; in the second place
about justice, since the term is used
in more senses than one, we will
separately (μετὰ ταῦτα) define it and
show how the two species of it are
severally mean states.’ This passage
gives accurately enough beforehand
the order of subjects for Books III.
and IV.; the word ἄλλοθι seems to
show that he has in view the inter-
ruption of the argument by the dis-
cussion upon will, at the beginning of
the Third Book. The separate treat-
ment of justice is also announced.
But it can hardly be said that the
promise περὶ ἑκατέρας ἐροῦμεν K,7.A,

is exactly fulfilled in Book V. On
the order in which the several virtues
are treated, see the note to Eth. ut
2a

t ὁμοίως δὲ καὶ περὶ τῶν λογικῶν
ἀρετῶν] This passage is obelized,
because of the term λογικαί, which-
never occurs elsewhere in Aristotle or
Eudemus, as applied to the d:a-
νοητικαὶ éperat—secondly, because of
the sense, since Aristotle could not
possibly say that he meant to show
how the intellectual excellences were
μεσότητες --- thirdly, because of the
extreme likelihood of an interpolation
here; see Essay I.

VIII. A new conception is now
developed of the relation between a
virtue and the extremes lying on each
side of it, and that is, the conception
of ‘ contrariety,’ of mutual repulsion
and exclusiveness between the several
terms. The extremes are opposed each
to the other, and both to the mean.
This addition tends yet further to
raise the moral distinctions from
being mere distinctions of quantity,
into being distinctions of kind. With
logical inconsistency, though with
thorough truth, Aristotle proceeds
to point out that one extreme is
generally ‘more contrary’ to the
mean than the other, either because
of a greater dissimilarity to virtue in

432 ΠΘΙΚΩΝ NIKOMAXEION IL. [ Crap.

μεῖζον πρὸς δὲ τὸ μεῖζον ἔλαττον, οὕτως αἱ μέσαι ἕξεις
πρὸς μεν τὰς ἐλλείψεις ὑπερβάλλουσι, πρὸς δὲ τὰς ὑπερ-
Ν > ’ὔ ΕΣ ~ Ae) Ἁ ~ , ε
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γὰρ ἀνδρεῖος πρὸς μὲν τὸν δειλὸν θρασὺς Φαίνεται, πρὸς δὲ
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« Ye / \ \ . ὦ > ΄ δ \ Ἁ
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οἱ ἄκροι ἑκάτερος πρὸς ἑκάτερον, καὶ καλοῦσι τὸν ἀνδρεῖον
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πορρωτέρω γὰρ ταῦτα ἀφέστηκεν ἀλλήλων 7 TOU μέσου,
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ς ἄμφω τοῦ ἴσου. ἔτι πρὸς μὲν τὸ μέσον ἐνίοις ἄκροις apie
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ἘΠ “ \ 5, Ν
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” le > ij Ἂς SS ~ > /
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ἀλλήλων ἐναντία ὁρίζονται, ὥστε καὶ μᾶλλον ἐναντία τὰ
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\
ἐφ᾽ ὧν μὲν ἡ ἔλλειψις ἐφ᾽ ὧν δὲ ἡ ὑπερβολή, olov ἀνδρείᾳ

the tendency itself, or from our fol- | while some extremes appear to haye

lowing a natural bent and pushing
out the tendency to extravagance.

2 ὁ yap avdpetos—deirds] ‘For the
brave man appears rash in comparison
with the coward, but a coward in
comparison with the rash man.’ Of
course oppositions of this kind are
relative and depend upon the point
of view. If the cowards had to settle
the question, all bravery would be
deemed rashness. Hence we see that
Aristotle’s system depends on faith in
a certain standard inherent in the
general reason of mankind. The
μεσότης is ὡρισμένη λόγῳ: And this
Jaw or standard of the absolute reason
finds its exponent in the wise man,
ὡς ἂν 6 φρόνιμος δρίσειεν.

5 ἔτι mpd μὲν--- ἀπέχοντα] ‘Again,

a sort of similarity to the mean, as,
for instance, rashness to bravery, and
prodigality to liberality; —the ex-
tremes have the greatest dissimilarity
to each other. But things most re-
moved from each other people define
to be ‘contraries,’ therefore things
more removed are more contrary to
each other.’ In the present passage
it is easy to see a logical inconsistency.
If contraries be τὰ πλεῖστον ἀπέχοντα,
how can we speak of them as πλεῖον
ἀπέχοντα Aristotle commences with
an idea of absolute contrariety, and
afterwards takes up one of relative
contrariety, admitting of degrees.
But repugnance admits of degrees,
if contrariety does not, so the inae-
curacy is merely verbal,

Vill. j HOIKQN NIKOMAXEION ΤΙ. 433

\
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ἀλλ᾽ ἡ ἀκολασία ὑπερβολὴ οὖσα. διὰ δύο δ᾽ αἰτίας.
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δι Ri 3 ~ x ws Ν a \ > \ 6,
ματος, ἑτέρα δὲ ἐξ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν" πρὸς ἃ yap αὐτοὶ μᾶλ-
/ 4 ~ ~~ > / ~ 4 7
λον πεφύκαμεν πως, ταῦτα μᾶλλον ἐναντία τῷ μέσῳ Φαι-

VETO.

οἷον αὐτοὶ μᾶλλον πεφύκαμεν πρὸς τὰς ἡδονάς, διὸ

εὐκατάφοροί ἐσμεν μᾶλλον πρὸς ἀκολασίαν ἢ πρὸς κοσμιιό-

τηῆτα.

~ > -" ~ 3 7 / : \ aA ε
ταῦτ οὖν μᾶλλον ἐναντία λέγομεν, πρὸς ἃ ἢ

5 / ~ ~ Picts

ἐπίδοσις μᾶλλον γίνεται" καὶ διὰ τοῦτο ἡ ἀκολασία ὑπερ-
\ " > , 9 % ~ /

βολὴ οὖσα ἐναντιωτέρα ἐστὶ τῇ σωφροσύνῃ.

7 διὰ δύο δ᾽ αἰτίας--- μᾶλλον] ‘ Now
this takes place from two causes, one
(external to us) depending on the
nature of the thing itself; for that
extreme which is nearer to and
more like the mean, we do not oppose
so much to the mean, as its contrary.’
The first thing, says Aristotle, which
makes one extreme more repugnant
to the mean than the other extreme,
is a difference of kind. Some faults
are errors ‘on virtue’s side,’ and
while rashness, for instance, is the
same tendency as courage, only car-
ried too far, cowardice differs from it in
kind, This difference then is one with
which the agent has nothing to do.

8 ἑτέρα δὲ---σωφροσύνη] ‘A second
cause depends on ourselves ; for those
things to which we are in a way
more disposed by nature appear more
repugnant to the mean. As, for in-
stance, we are in ourselves more dis-
posed towards pleasures, hence we are
more carried away in the direction of

VOL. I.

intemperance, than in that of (exces-
sive) orderliness. Therefore we call
those things more contrary to the
mean in which we run to greater
lengths; and thus intemperance, which
is the excess, seems more contrary to
temperance (than the other extreme).’
Passing over the false explanation of
this passage which pretends to find
in it the doctrine of human corruption
—as if Aristotle said that we are by
nature prone to what is worst, whereas
he says that ‘what we are most
prone to appears to be the worst,’
there are two modes of explanation
left ; one is that of the Paraphrast,
who renders it, ἐπεὶ yap 6 πόλεμος
τῷ σπουδαίῳ πρὸς τὰ ἄκρα γίνεται, Thy
μεσότητα (ητοῦντι, πρὸς ὃ τῶν ἄκρων
μείζων ἣ μάχη, ἐκεῖνο ἐναντιώτερον τῷ
μέσῳ δοκεῖ κιτιλ., namely, that there
is the greatest struggle in avoiding
that extreme to which we are prone,
and therefore it appears most opposed
to the mean, This interpretation is

KK

434

Ὁ

HOIKQN ΝΙΚΟΜΑΧΕΊΩΝ It.

[παρ᾿

Ὅ ἣν " 4, \ ε 3 Ἁ ε γῇ Ἁ ’ A ~
Th μὲν οὖν ἐστίν ἢ ἄρετη ἢ ἡθικὴ μεσότης, καὶ πῶς,

oa 4 V6 ~ ~ AN awe 4 ~~

καὶ ὅτι μεσότης δύο κακιῶν, τῆς μὲν καθ᾽ ὑπερβολὴν τῆς

σ ’ 3 \ \ Ν x

δὲ κατ᾽ ἔλλειψιν, καὶ ὅτι τοιαύτη ἐστὶ διὰ τὸ στοχαστικὴ
“ “ ~ , \ ~ /

τοῦ μέσου εἶναι τοῦ ἐν τοῖς πάθεσι καὶ ταῖς πράξεσιν,

is}

ἱκανῶς εἴρηται,

διὸ καὶ ἔργον ἐστὶ σπουδαῖον εἶναι" ἐν

ἑκάστω γὰρ τὸ μέσον λαβεῖν ἔργον, οἷον κύκλου τὸ μέσον
υ γὰρ τὸ ph civ ἔργον, μέ

~ NJ
οὐ παντὸς ἀλλὰ τοῦ εἰδότος.

οὕτω δὲ καὶ τὸ μὲν ὀργι-

σθῆναι παντὸς καὶ ῥᾷδιον, καὶ τὸ δοῦναι ἀργύριον καὶ

δαπανῆσαι"

τὸ δ᾽ ᾧ καὶ ὅσον καὶ ὅτε καὶ οὗ ἕνεκα καὶ ὥς,

οὐκέτι παντὸς οὐδὲ ῥᾷδιον" διόπερ τὸ εὖ καὶ σπάνιον καὶ

slightly favoured by ὃ 4 of the next
chapter, σκοπεῖν δὲ δεῖ x.7.A.; but on
the other hand, not a word is here
said of avoiding either extreme; the
question is rather of following one’s
bent. (2) The other explanation is
that which the author of the Magna
Moralia espouses, Mag. Mor. τ. ix. 5:
ἣ οὖν ἐπίδοσις γίνεται μᾶλλον πρὸς ἃ
πεφύκαμεν " πρὸς ἃ δὲ μᾶλλον ἐπιδίδο-
μεν, ταῦτα καὶ μᾶλλον ἐναντία. ἐπι-
δίδομεν δὲ πρὸς ἀκολασίαν μᾶλλον ἢ
πρὸς κοσμιότητα, This 15 surely what
Aristotle means, and his general
sense may be given as follows: ‘ One
difference is in the act itself, a differ-
ence of kind; the other difference
proceeds from ourselves, a difference
of degree, for wherever we have an
inclination towards one side, we run
into extravagance on that side, and
so aggravate that form of error, and
make it seem worse than its opposite.’
In order to make the words suit a
preconceived meaning, people have
translated ἐπίδοσις ‘‘ inclination,’
whereas it can only mean ‘ advance,’
‘ progression,’ ‘development,’ &e. As
the Magna Moralia give it, πρὸς ἃ
πεφύκαμεν is the ‘inclination,’ and
ἐπίδοσις is the result of this. The
addition of γίνεται might have been
sufficient to prevent the above misin-
terpretation.

It is observable that |

σωφροσύνη is here first contrasted
with κοσμιότησ, as if that meant
‘ asceticism,’ and afterwards the corre-
sponding term is omitted, Aristotle
seems unwilling to employ the term
ἀναισθησία, being too strong a word,
ef. Eth. τι. ii. 7: ὃ δὲ πάσας φεύγων ---
ἀναίσθητός τις. π| Vil. 3: ἐλλείποντες
δὲ περὶ τὰς ἡδονὰς ob πάνυ γίνονται"
διόπερ οὐδ᾽ ὀνόματος τετυχήκασιν οὐδ᾽
of τοιοῦτοι, ἔστωσαν δὲ ἀναίσθητοι.

IX. The book is concluded with
certain practical rules for attaining
the mean. (1) Avoid the worst ex-
treme; (2) Find out your bent and go
even farther than is necessary in the
direction opposite to it; (3) Beware
of the delusions of pleasure; (4)
After all, the appeal must be in the
last resort to the intuitive judgment,

2 διὸ----εἰδότο5}] ‘On this account

_ it is a hard task to be good: for it is

always hard to ascertain the mean;
as, for instance, not every man, but
only the mathematician, can find the
centre of a circle’ The words of
Simonides (quoted by Plato, Protag.
P- 339, and referred to above, Eth.
I. X, 11), ἄνδρ᾽ ἀγαθὸν μὲν ἀλαθέως
γενέσθαι χαλεπόν x.T.A., may have
been in the mind of Aristotle, who
here gives a rationale of them, and
indeed shows that it is hard not only

ΙΧ. ἩΘΙΚΩΝ ΝΙΚΟΜΑΧΕΈΙΩΝ II. 435

| 4 \ ~ ~
ἐπαινετὸν καὶ καλόν. διὸ δεῖ τὸν στοχαζόμενον τοῦ 3
~ ~ ~ -,
μέσου πρῶτον μὲν ἀποχωρεῖν τοῦ μᾶλλον ἐναντίου, καθάπερ
\ ~
καὶ ἡ Ἱζαλυψὼ παραινεῖ
τούτου μὲν καπνοῦ καὶ κύματος ἐκτὸς ἔεργε
νῆα.
“ \ y κ 3 5 ε , 4: Ἂν a
τῶν γὰρ ἄκρων τὸ μὲν ἐστιν ἀμαρτωλότερον, τὸ ὃ ττον"
" . ΦΦ / ~ /
ἐπεὶ οὖν TOU μέσου τυχεῖν ἄκρως χαλεπόν, κατὰ τὸν δεύτε- 4
“ ~ \ , ~ ~ ~
pov dacs πλοῦν τὰ ἐλάχιστα ληπτέον τῶν κακῶν" τοῦτο
ΑΝ ~ \
δ᾽ ἔσται μάλιστα τοῦτον τὸν τρόπον ὃν λέγομεν. σκο-
~ δὲ ἃ ~ \ a \ > \ > / ἌΣ 5
Wely OF OF πρὸς ἃ καὶ αυτοι εὐκατάφοροι ἐσμεν" ἄλλοι
Ν x y ΄ “ > > ΄ 3
γὰρ πρὸς ἄλλα πεφύκαμεν. τοῦτο δ᾽ ἔσται γνώριμον ἐκ
»-» «Ὁ “ \ ~ vd - / A ~
τῆς ἡδονῆς καὶ τῆς λύπης τῆς γινομένης περὶ ἡμᾶς. εἰς:ς
» , > @ ‘ > / ~ \ Ἁ 3 ,
τοὐναντίον δ᾽ ἑαυτοὺς ἀφέλκειν δεῖ" πολὺ yap ἀπαγαγόν-
“ , \
τες τοῦ ἁμαρτάνειν sig TO μέσον ἥξομεν, ὅπερ of τὰ
/ ~ 7 > ~ ~
διεστραμμένα τῶν ξύλων ὀρθοῦντες ποιοῦσιν. ἐν παντὶ δὲς
, / ING \ \ «Ἀ ΄ » Ἂν INP.
μάλιστα φυλακτέον TO you καὶ THY ἡδονὴν οὐ yap ἀδέ-

to become, but to be, good, σπουδαῖον
εἶναι, not only γενέσθαι. Cf. the dis-
cussion in the Protagoras.

4 καθαπερ καὶ ἡ Καλυψὼ παραινεῖ]
There is a mistake here in which
Aristotle is followed by the Para-
phrast. It was Circe (not Calypso)
who advised Ulysses (Od. xm. 108—
109), when sailing between Scylla and
Charybdis, to keep nearest to the
former, as being less dangerous. Two
of the MSS., with a view of setting
Aristotle right, substitute Κίρκη for
the authentic reading. The verse
here given Homer puts not into the
mouth of Circe, but of Ulysses ordering
his pilot, according to the directions
he had received (Od. x11. 219, 220.)

4 κατὰ τὸν δεύτερόν φασι “πλοῦν
A common Greek proverb, which is
variously explained. It is sometimes
said to mean ‘on the voyage home, if
not on the voyage out’; but it seems
very much better to take the words
as meaning ‘with oars, if not with
sails,’ an explanation which is twice
given by Eustathius; p. 661, ὁ τῶν

κωπηλατούντων πλοῦς δεύτερος λέγεται
πλοῦς, ὡς πρώτου ὄντος τοῦ πλέειν πρὸς
ἄνεμον. Also in p. 1453. Other in-
stances of the proverb are Politics,
Im. xili. 23; Plato, Philebus, p. 19 c;
Phedo, 99 v.

5 εἰς τοὐναντίον--- ποιοῦσιν] ‘But
we must drag ourselves away in the
opposite direction; for by bending
ourselves a long way back from the
erroneous extreme, like those who
straighten crooked pieces of timber,
we shall at length arrive at the mean.’
The metaphor is borrowed from Plato
Protag. p. 325 Ὁ, where it is applied to
education, not, however, in precisely
the same sense as here. Kal ἐὰν μὲν
ἑκὼν πείθηται" εἰ δὲ μὴ, ὥσπερ ξύλον
διαστρεφόμενον καὶ καμπτόμενον εὐθύ-
νουσιν ἀπειλαῖς καὶ πληγαῖς.

6 ἐν παντὶ δὲ---ἁμαρτησόμεθα] “ But
in everything we must especially be
on our guard against the pleasant and
pleasure. For we are not uncorrupted
judges in her cause, Therefore, just
as the old counsellors felt towards
Helen, so ought we to feel towards

436

HOIKQN NIKOMAXEIQON II.

/ > Ug a “" ἱ ὃ / » ῇ
καστοι κρίνομεν αὐτήν. ὅπερ οὖν οἱ δημογέροντες ἔπαθον
“ ~ ~ ~ \ Ἁ
προς τὴν ᾿Ελένην, τοῦτο δεῖ παθεῖν καὶ ἡμᾶς πρὸς τὴν
GQ , ~ , a
ἡδονήν, καὶ ἐν πᾶσι τὴν ἐκείνων ἐπιλέγειν φωνήν" οὕτω

7 ydp αὐτὴν ἀποπεμπόμενοι ἧττον ἁμαρτησόμεθα.

ταῦτ᾽

s ~ ε 3 f > ~ / /

οὖν ποιοῦντες, ὡς ἐν κεφαλαίῳ εἰπεῖν, μάλιστα δυνησόμεθα
τοῦ μέσου τυγχάνειν. χαλεπὸν δ᾽ ἴσως τοῦτο, καὶ μάλιστ
ἐν τοῖς καθ᾿ ἕκαστον" οὐ yap ῥᾷδιον διορίσαι πῶς καὶ
τίσι καὶ ἐπὶ ποίοις καὶ πόσον χρόνον ὀργιστέον" καὶ γὰρ
ἡμεῖς ὁτὲ μὲν τοὺς ἐλλείποντας ἐπαινοῦμεν καὶ πράους
φαμέν, ὁτὲ δὲ τοὺς χαλεπαίνοντας ἀνδρώδεις ἀποκαλοῦμεν.

> τς Ν \ ~ > > , 4. .Ὁ
SAAA ὁ μὲν μικρὸν TOU εὖ παρεκβαίνων ou ψέγεται, οὔτ᾽

“ κι ‘

ἐπὶ τὸ μᾶλλον οὔτ᾽ ἐπὶ τὸ ἧττον, 6 δὲ πλέον" οὗτος γὰρ

A
οὐ λανθάνει.

6 δὲ μέχρι τίνος καὶ ἐπὶ πόσον ψεκτὸς οὐ

ε«ε /N nn r 4. / LENDS 4A wv CANS n~

ῥᾷδιον Tw eta ἀφορίσαι * οὐδὲ ΤΟ ΤΌΝ οὐδὲν dans
> ~ ~~ ~

αἰσθητῶν" τὰ δὲ τοιαῦτα ἐν τοῖς καθ᾿ ἕκαστα, καὶ ἐν τῇ

9 αἰσθήσει ἡ κρίσις.

τὸ μὲν ἄρα τοσοῦτο δῆλον ὅτι ἡ μέση

io 3 ~ Ω 7 > 4 ἊΝ ~ @€y X FE | Ἁ
ἕξις ἐν πᾶσιν ἐπαινετή, ἀποκλίνειν δὲ δεῖ ὁτὲ μὲν ἐπὶ τὴν
3 \ Ὁ
ὑπερβολὴν ὁτὲ δ᾽ ἐπὶ τὴν ἔλλειψιν" οὕτω γὰρ ῥᾷστα
~ ~ ee
τοῦ μέσου καὶ τοῦ εὖ τευξόμεθα.

pleasure, and in everything apply
their saying; for by sending her out
of our sight we shall err the less.’

The reference is to Homer, Jad 11.

156—160:

Οὐ νέμεσις Τρῶας καὶ ἐϊκνημῖδας
᾿Αχαιοὺς

τοιῇδ᾽ ἀμφὶ γυναικὶ πολὺν χρόνον
ἄλγεα πάσχειν.

Αἰνῶς ἀθανάτῃσι θεῇς εἰς ὦπα
ἔοικεν.

ἀλλὰ καὶ ὡς τοίη περ ἐοῦσ᾽ ἐν νηυσὶ
νεέσθω

μηδ᾽ ἡμῖν τεκέεσσί τ᾽ ὀπίσσω πῆμα
λίποιτο,

ἀδέκαστοι] ‘ Unbribed,’ ‘ uncorrupt-
ed.’ δεκάζω, the origin of which is
obscure, finds a parallel in the Latin
‘ decuriare,’ which meant to bribe the

tribes at elections. See Cicero, pro
Plancio, c. xviii. 4.5.

8 ὁ δὲ μέχρι τίνος καὶ ἐπὶ πόσον
ψεκτός] a condensed phrase meaning
‘to what point and how far a man
(may go before he) is blameable,’

ἐν τῇ αἰσθήσει ἣ κρίσι5] ‘The de-
cision of them is a matter of feeling.’
Aristotle means that general rules are
often inapplicable to particular cases,
which must then be decided by a kind
of ‘intuition’ or ‘tact,’ not derived
from philosophy, but natural. Compare
in. iii, 13: ἐπεὶ δ᾽ ἡ τελευταία πρότασις
δόξα τε αἰσθητοῦ καὶ κυρία τῶν πραξέων.
-διὰ τὸ μὴ καθόλου μηδ᾽ ἐπιστημονικὸν
ὁμοίως εἶναι δοκεῖν τῷ καθόλου τὰν
ἔσχατον ὅρον.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

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STAPHY......cceccoccccseccerscensetoeccen, «5 ene
= Lectures on History of France 2 ’ lish-Greek Lexicon et ae
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